The Aftermath and a Quiet Promise
The celebration of victory was an uncontainable force of nature, sweeping across the campus and flowing into the huge lawn in front of the senior dorms. A bonfire was started, music streamed from speakers precariously balanced in windows, and the whole student body appeared to be swept up in a single, ecstatic instant. Right at the heart of this spinning galaxy of jubilation was Adrian, its shining, fiery sun. He was carried on the shoulders of his teammates, marched around like a conquering hero, his smile radiant in the light of the bonfire.
I attempted to be a part of it. I really did. I stood on the edge of the giant throng, nursing a warm can of soda, and observed him. Part of me, the part of me that had been his best friend for over a decade, felt the familiar thrill of pride. That was my Adrian, the man everybody wanted to be around. But a greater part of me felt a wrenching disconnection. The tension of the game, the memory of that impossible comeback, had put up a fragile, intangible barrier between me and the jubilant chaos. Each chant and cheer felt hollow, a distraction from the question screaming in my head: What did I see?
I saw Adrian finally let down, only to be immediately mobbed. People were slapping him on the back, mussing his hair, their faces alight with adoration. He took it all in his characteristic effortless style, laughing, thanking them all, a perfectly debonair king holding court. But I knew him better than anyone. I could see the faint tension in his shoulders, the way his smile just didn't quite reach his eyes anymore. He was playing a role, and he was getting exhausted.
Drowning in noise and the oppressive press of my own unanswered questions, I couldn't stand it anymore. I put my cup down on a table piled high with empty ones and started to glide out of there, fading into the darkness on the periphery of the party. I didn't want to spoil his night; he should get to party. I needed air.
I had gone only a few yards before a voice pierced the noise. "Ethan, wait up!"
I glanced over my shoulder to find Adrian running to keep up with me, relief and regret on his face. He was carrying two paper plates in each of his hands, each of them topped with a slightly deformed pepperoni pizza slice. The group that he left behind stared after them in dismay and confusion.
"Leaving already?" he inquired, his grin then appearing genuine.
"Not my sort of setting," I said grumpily, guilty. "I didn't want to drag you out." "Are you kidding me?" he breathed with a gentle laugh. "You're rescuing me. Another ten minutes and I think my face would have been permanently stuck in a smile." He handed me one of the plates. "I thought you hadn't eaten. Come on."
We strolled back to our dorm, the rowdy bonfire and pounding music growing smaller in the distance. At each step, the cacophonous noise dropped away, replaced by the soft trilling of crickets and the comforting, soothing quiet between us. Adrian's shoulders relaxed visibly. The campus king had vanished; my best friend had returned.
Inside our room, we ate in silence. Our normally snug quarters, where we could always find comfort, now seemed full of unspoken questions. I needed to ask. I needed to know if I was losing my mind.
Your wrist," I began, my voice ringing too loudly in the stillness of the room. "You sure it's all right? In the stands it seemed… I mean, the way you fell.".
Adrian ceased chewing. He glanced down at his left wrist, turning it loosely. There was no bruising. No swelling. It seemed perfectly normal. "Oh, yeah. It's totally fine," he replied, a little too lightly. "The medic looked it over after the game. Told me I got incredibly lucky. Must have just strained the tendons but not the bone. Hurts like a son of a gun for a second, but it's fine now.".
The explanation sounded plausible. It sounded rational. And I didn't credit a single word of it.
He might have felt the uncertainty in my eyes, for he immediately redirected the conversation. He leaned back in his chair, running his already disheveled hair with his hand, and let out a deep breath. "I'm so tired of all the commotion," he told me, waving a loose hand toward the party. "The games, the crowds. it's all too much." He turned to me, his storm-grey eyes warm and genuine. "Let's leave here this weekend. Just the two of us. We can go camping up by Black Creek, like we used to do when we were kids. Get a real campfire, no music, no people."
His proposal was a lifeline, an opportunity to go back to the uncomplicated, simple roots of our friendship. A weekend out of all this, perhaps, just perhaps, I could wipe the things I had witnessed that were impossible. "Yeah," I told him, a genuine smile on my lips for the first time that night. "Yeah, I'd like that a lot."
It's a promise, then," he replied, his smile echoing mine. Then, afterward, in bed, I listened to the sound of his even breathing from the other side of the room. I felt calm wash over me. We were moving back to basics. Just Ethan and Adrian. But as I closed my eyes, the image of his wrist twisting at that repulsive angle came flooding into my mind, followed by that odd, impossible blast of golden light. I had my friend back, but the feeling that I didn't know him at all anymore was no longer a murmur. It was a scream.