Splash

I've never been friends with someone who's dying before.

It feels weird, and very unsure, like when you're testing the temperature of water in a lake or pond to see what it's like, but you know in the back of your mind that you'll end up jumping no matter what the temperature is. It'll be really cold at first, almost shocking. But you'll get used to it, and keep swimming for a while. Still, there will always be that voice in the back of your head telling you it's still really cold, and the odd time it will win over. You'll get out, and jump right back in again to do it all over again.

I'm still testing the water, not willing to believe the cold and shocking truth: my friend is going to die.

Daren Bello is going to die. He's only 18 years old--but he's going to die.

I don't really understand how it happened; the kid was always really healthy. He's been on the town's swim team for as long as anyone can remember, and he's a damn good diver too. He had this crazy dream to go to the Olympics, which earned him the nickname, 'little Phelps'. We used to joke around about it and tease him about his big dream, even though we all knew that he could at least qualify.

Dammit. I wipe a stray, salty tear from my worried eyes as I try and focus on the road.

"Save the crying for later." I say to myself, "Can't see the road with water in your eyes."

Ten minutes later I'm at the hospital, sitting in the parking lot.

This is all so unreal.

My best friend, my confidant and companion since the day we could communicate, is leaving and never coming back.

I'm walking through the front doors of the hospital now, hands in my pockets and staring straight ahead, not really focused on anything in particular. Normally I would be taken aback by the size and beauty of a building like the several-stories-high-hospital--but not today.

I walk like a dark zombie towards the receptionist and say in a bleak, defeated voice, "Daren Bello please" the lady nods and gives me his room number, handing me a sanitary mask, gloves and shoes while doing so. They're probably the newest--and cleanest--pieces of clothing on me as I slowly make my way to Daren's room.

My heart flutters nervously as I begin to realise that this may be the last time I ever see my dear friend. What am I supposed to say? How do you say goodbye forever?

I'm preparing to jump into the water.

I could tell him I'm sorry, and start blaming things like the government and poverty, probably shouldn't do that with guards around though.

I feel a wetness on my cheek and reach up to realise that I've drenched my sanitary mask with tears. The reality of the situation is really starting to hit me: I'm in the middle of my first jump into the icy cold water, somewhere in mid-air probably. I can see Daren's room from here, and I'm hit by a sudden wave of anger and questions.

Why did we have to be born here? Why do we live in poverty? Why is there third world countries like this one? This small, stupid country of Liberia. If it wasn't for this country, Daren wouldn't have malaria, and he probably wouldn't die from it either.

Splash.