It started to drizzle. I pulled the hood up over my head and sat hard on a picnic bench and buried my face in my hands. I started crying and realized he had too. He dropped the knife and leaned against me. I hugged him. “I’m sorry,â€? I sobbed over and over. He hasn’t had the perfect life or anything near it. He hasn’t seen his parents in ten years. I felt a pang of sympathy for Michael then another for myself. I haven’t seen mine in six.

Just then I noticed how much we had in common. No family or friends. Neither of our parents loved us. Yet here we were, helping and supporting each other through thick and thin. I guess neither of us has been very gracious to one another. It seems people just take their relationships for granted until they discover that that isn’t how life works. If only he had a friend.

“I’m your friend, Michael,â€? I whispered. He stared at me blankly. I repeated myself clearly and calmly. I saw a very small smile appear on his face. And I’ll always be there for you.