The Vow We Couldn't Keep | Freewrite: 9/26/22 | Prompt: A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words

I was to think of those lazy days of summer 1959 many times over the past twenty years.

The letter marked Personal and Confidential left in my office desk and briefly read would mark the last time I'd think of those days. I shifted my gaze in the direction of the grinding sound created by machinery mindlessly separating concrete from its base. A much needed distraction.

But the grinding in my soul couldn't remain there.

I squinted. My chest tightened. Not by health, but loss. Returning the letter to safekeeping, I caught a glimpse of the picture frame. Was it my head spinning or the image of us three that looked as if it had turned ninety degrees to remind me of the cruelties circumstances can suddenly inflict?

Clouds rolled in and partially covered the last of the day's light. Laughter rang out from two faint, but familiar ten year old voices. Water mingled with silt we splashed from the pond offered a brief reprieve from the muffled heat.

Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches waited patiently while we hurriedly removed water from our ears. Thank God for my mom. The rag towels provided partial relief from our shivering bodies. Stomachs full, unused fishing poles and bait on our arms, we headed home.

Several feet into the trail, carved out by years of misuse, our friendship solidified as we each gathered a thin rock. With the sharp edge, the number three traced into our palms marked our pledge of brotherhood from that day forward.

We laughed, then beat the trail once again as we raced to see who'd be the first to reach the steps to our row houses.

We held up our palms. "Forever," we shouted in unison, then disappeared inside. Our vow was now set.

Two years later, the tumultuous storms of our lives grabbed and cast us adrift.

If anyone who didn't know Larry were to spread rumors of an undisciplined child, the retaliatory response by me would be deafening. They might say why then after moving away from the neighborhood would he become involved in a life of gang crime. I'd say that his parents' financial situation, then death pummeled him into a tailspin. With no other relatives living nearby, he had no choice but to move away.

Circumstances out of his control arose concerning his relatives' way of life. He wrote to me often. I cried at the harsh treatment heaped upon him. As the youngest and smallest of our group, he'd constantly grasp for attention. He found it wherever he could. Life didn't give him a break as circumstances steered him adrift. A life cut short at the age of twelve.

Larry's death affected us both. But life kept moving us forward.

If anyone who didn't know Harold were to spread rumors he was reckless in his finances; in his personal life; and in his friendships, an immediate and fierce backlash by me would ensue. The tallest and oldest of us, Harold's outspoken and fearless leader attitude bonded us the moment he moved into our neighborhood. He was going places and doing things in his life. His plan for success was contagious, and he was going to share it with us.

And he did share it; with me. Then why was he unexpectedly incarcerated for embezzlement and fraud, leaving his family penniless? Why then did he keep another family in another city. So many unanswered questions. His wife later shared with me the problems with mental health spanning his teen years and beyond. Not the destructive type, but the I can do anything syndrome. And he set out to prove it, figuring out ways to cheat the system. His deception knew no bounds.

The day I received the call that Harold had been arrested, it tore me apart. However, no one could convince me that I didn't fail him. I blame myself for not recognizing and understanding his truth.

If life experiences are of any value, then I can't help but think our friendship prepared me for my life's journey of taking the world's private problems into my bosom to keep. Have I truly helped those who desperately needed it? I'm still seeking to help myself.

You may now think that I'm the grounded one; a successful, upscale psychologist and part financier. The one who has everything together. The one who sorted out this problem called life and avoided the circumstances of turmoil.

I wish it were so. No one's life is perfect. If losing Larry at the age of twelve and then losing Harold for life, then I admit I got it all wrong. I feel that I purposely ignored so many warning signs. I turned the other way when confronted with difficult situations.

My family left many years ago. I don't blame them. Circumstances sent me adrift. Now, I'm in therapy. Don't know if it will help. Many times I've visited the quiet place. I'd sit and think of ways not to continue. I mourn Harold, although he's still alive but distant. However, it's Larry I truly mourn. I wish I could return to those lazy days of summer, 1959. I wish, knowing what happened later, we could have found a way to keep the vow we made.

I turned from the picture frame, then retrieved the letter again from my drawer. Stationery for Harold's attorney. Harold appointed me executor of his will. Then, he bequeathed his entire estate to me.

I sat staring at the letter a moment longer. I didn't even ask myself why. But I couldn't accept it. I wasn't that kind of friend; the one who made the vow years ago.

I returned the letter back to the drawer. It would be the last time I would read it. I'd respond tomorrow.

It would also be the last time I thought of the vow we took during those lazy days of summer, 1959.

^{Image used with permission of contest owner}