I was shopping with my mom when I encountered him. We were in an upscale boutique, admiring the elegant, but not particularly eye-catching clothes. A boy wearing a pair of skinnies and some brand named sweater came in. I had seen him earlier, on a street corner, shouting lewd comments at some respectable-looking man. He edges up to us, looking around frantically, and convulsively moving. I have always thought that crack addicts would twitch, but he didn't. His sinewy movement might have been eerily beautiful in a ballet.

I looked closer... and to my surprise, we did in fact went to the same middle school together. He didn't even remember me, sure it has been 4 years--but I could never forget him. I loved him. I stared at him, his torso rolled and rocked, forwards and back, side to side, his arms flailing strangely, like waves. His legs seems to be engaged in a disconnected, neverending two-step with nobody. Before, I would've wished for an eternal duet with him.

"Can I have two dollars for McDonalds?" This question was directed at my mother, who fumbled in her wallet for a toonie. He pressed forward towards me. I felt my face freezze in an awkward smile, every muscle tense. My unease caused me to involuntarily stumble backwards. A toonie appeared and was transferred. I hope beyond anything he would leave. I felt awful for thinking it. But he didn't go.

A sudden rush of forgotten memories consumed my mind. He was such a nice boy, and his kindness had at one point touched my heart. This was the boy I thought I was going to marry, the boy that I thought would help me explore and discover the vast terrain of my heart. Yes I may have been naive back then, but I would've ran away with him if he asked me too. This is who I was, and I tried so hard not to remember, but there are some things that just cannot be forgotten. My train of thought was interuppted by his voice, pulling me back into reality.

"This would look good on you." He pressed a white, buttoned cardigan into me. I was speechless, but I took his suggestion and mumbled thanks under my breath. I couldn't understand why I was blushing. He smiled--but the shop girl cut him off.

'I think you should leave." The slight waver in her voice gave away her slight discomfort. "Why do we need to go?" His voice sounded creaky and old, even though he was around my age. "We" is my mother, me and him. "Are you together?" My mother shakes her head almost imperceptibly at the girl. We continue to peruse the shelves, constantly moving away from the crack addict. I try to ignore the dialogue between the girl and the addict, but it trickled deep into my thoughts despite my best efforts.

I tried, I really did. I still remember, when he had told me that his life was falling apart and I guess I should've suspected the abuse. That's when he started to become addicted, it was his only escape. I was afraid to speak out, and I couldn't bare too see his beautiful, fragile body to be so broken. I was on a mission to somehow recover his broken heart, to show him love. But I...I...I--I wasn't strong enough and I had my heart broken in the process.

The shop girl is threatening to call security, the addict is taking offense at her attitude. The shop girl does call security. This addict is speaking now. I open my ears to listen.

"I may be a crack addict, but I'm still a person. I used to drive to school through this place. It took me an hour. I never thought I'd end up here, I'll tell you that."

We finish our browsing, and leave the store. I was worried about the crack addict, but we decided to walk away. A moment later, we see security guards in front of the store. The shop girl is crying. Why?

The addict is walking down the street, with confidence in every step. He's there still, I imagine. He will be there next week, next year. He will be there until he dies, sad, and alone, lost in his mind that is so different from mind. His mind is a roadmap of dead-ends and roads that lead to nowhere. Maybe, just maybe it's not too late. But the idealistic man of yesterday is gone. He is here now.

As we drove off to our next destination, I felt something constantly quivering inside, making me feel sick to my stomach. In an uncontrollable rage, the hot tears trickled down like an angry rain storm. I was gasping for life, hoping that the pain would go away. My mother asked what was wrong, but I was speechless because I knew deep down that a part of me never really moved on. I wanted to help him, I shelfishly wanted him to be addicted to my love, a drug more fatal that we could have used together to explore the boundaries of our friendship at that time. Is it too late? I don't know, and I guess I'll never know for sure. All I know is that this is human nature, and I will never understand it.

...

End

Thanks for reading. (: