Two Friends. {JOSHLER}

11

It was all just a rush.

First it was the nurses running through the waiting room to find Josh's parent in a dead sprint.

Then it was wondering what was going on.

I was just reading a Sports Illustrated Magazine when they came in. They ran straight towards his parents frantically and they went off in Josh's direction.

"What's going on?" I asked my mom, who was sitting next to me wide awake.

She put a hand on my knee. "I'm sure it's nothing big," she said with an anxious look on her face.

I knew that was supposed to make me feel better, but it didn't. Something wasn't right. And Josh seemed to be in the middle of it all.

I leaned back in my chair, tense and stressed, and tried to continue flipping through the old, ripped pages of the courtesy of the hospital. But nothing seemed to help. It was useless.

I was concerned.

Like I said, something wasn't right.

None of the Dun's were in the room. They were probably all back with Josh, worried as well. I didn't know what to do. I could just forget about it all, say that Josh was going to be alright, and just relax.

But no.

He wasn't okay.

Nurses don't just run into a room for the parents of a patience for no reason at all. There had to be a purpose behind it.

I wasn't going to let Josh die.

Not because of me.

I had already let that happen before and it wasn't going to happen again.

"Mom, he's not okay," I told my mom, my breaths getting heavy. I started getting light-headed, but I couldn't give up. Not now.

She put her hands on me for support. "Tyler, honey, it's okay. Calm down. Shh... shh..." She was caressing my hair while I fought my feelings. I didn't want her sympathy. I didn't want anything but Josh.

I wanted Josh back. I wanted to see his smiling face, his almost-Asian complexion, just everything about him.

He made me whole. Without him, I was nothing.

I started to cry, and the more I let my emotions got the best of me, the more people started to worry.

Why is he crying?

What's going on?

And that was when it hit me.

-

8th grade year.

My mom forced me to go to this stupid music camp Columbus had every year. The worst music teacher always hosted it, which made it a complete waste. I mean, I loved music, but he made me cringe with every note he played on his old and out of tune violin.

Brendon, Troye, Ryan, and I all went to the camp. They seemed more excited about it than I was.

"Why are you sulking around?" Troye said in his thick Australian accent. He had moved from there to America a month back, although he never really told us why. One day, he just showed up and we welcomed him to Ohio and that was basically it, except for his dad who he lowkey said was abusive.

I was staring at at my feet while we were walking the 20 blocks to the Arena, but I looked up when he asked that. "Who, me?"

"Yeah."