I remember our first encounter. It was in the second year of middle school.
I was a transfer student who abruptly moved across states just a month into the school year.
"We have a new student." The homeroom teacher dully said as the uninterested students continued what they were doing.
I was directed to my seat as I waited for a classmate to approach me.
No one did.
After a few days, you walked up to me with furrowed brows.
"Hey, I'm Leo." You greeted me with a friendly grin. "Nice to meet ya."
From that day onwards, I followed you everywhere.
In class, we always teamed together on projects. During recess, we played together on the swing.
You taught me how to play the swing while standing, how to play cat's cradle, how to sing, how to draw on the cement floor with rocks, how to climb fences, how to wish on a paper crane, and how to create a whole universe from imagination.
Every day, there would be two foolish kids, standing upright on a swing and gentling oscillating while the wind flows through our dark hairs. We would sing "Let it go" freely on the top of our lungs. We would try to grab the golden ginkgo leaves above as we swing while always failing. Once we grow older, we will be able to finally grasp the ginkgo leaves, we thought.
We would scribble away on the ground with a rock on our hands, climb the wire fences of the playground, and run to the crowd when a teacher yelled at us.
Eventually, we grew a little, but our childish actions still remained. We were together as well in the third year of middle school and ended up going to the same high school.
In high school, we only shared one to two classes. We hung out together on the swings in a park nearby. Every year, I would pray on the power of randomizers that we will end up in the same classes. Every year, we would have a class or two together. Every year, we would slowly grow apart.
You no longer like singing. You said that it was dumb.
You no longer like climbing fences. You said that it was too childish.
You no longer like dreaming. You said that it was too impossible.
School had shattered your youth, hopes, and aspiration and replaced them with a cruel reality.
You wanted to be a singer but were shushed by a classmate when you sang. I remember when you told me about it as a small joke but I knew that you took it to heart. Sure, it might seem insignificant, but that was your delicate pride which all crumbled by a single rejection.
You were isolated from your peers since you didn't join any social clique early on. I never knew that you were a shy student. It seemed like I was a bad friend.
Your grade wasn't high enough to go to your dream school. You knew it. You tried so hard, I saw you, but eventually gave up when you realized that it was near impossible. After that, you broke. You no longer cared about studying. Whenever I saw you outside of class, you were on your phone, playing the same battle royale shooting game. As I scolded you for your declining grades in classes we shared, you gently laughed and said, "It doesn't matter anymore, right?"
I didn't know how to help you, I tried awkwardly comforting you. Every day, I brought a new topic/hobby to you, hoping that it'll reignite the fire in your eyes. Every day, you listlessly continued sitting on the swing, under the now naked ginkgo tree, slowly rocking yourself with your feet with dull eyes.
You saved me, but I didn't know how to help you.
Until, one day, I introduced finance. I talked about investing, becoming financially independent, and retiring early while getting enough money to live. Like a magician suddenly snapped, the gray time that stopped for you resumed with bursting colors. One doesn't need to go to a prestigious college to retire early. It is fine to have decent grades. It might take a bit longer to earn enough to retire but it is worth it. You felt like there was finally hope for yourself. You enjoyed researching stocks, credit cards, taxes, colleges, and careers. I enjoyed watching your happiness.
And so we sat on the swings, under the fresh green ginkgo leaves, as we discussed our new findings and plans for the future. Once again, we stood and swung on the swing singing, now, not just "Let it go" but also new songs. We continued trying and failing to grab the ginkgo leaves, our fingers now being able to slightly brush by the new leaves. Once we grow older, we will be able to finally grasp the ginkgo leaves, we thought.
We kept going to the park, after school, talking, swinging, and trying to get the ginkgo leaves.
The "we" soon turned to an "I".
I stood, I swung, I tried, and I wished.
One day, as I was swinging forward, I caught it, the ginkgo leaf that I, no, we, was trying so hard to grasp. As my hand wrapped around the leaf, my balance was in turmoil and I fell on my knees. After the fall, I opened my hand, glad to see that the leaf wasn't damaged. It was beautiful, a golden ginkgo leaf, like what we first wanted. Then, I turned to look around me. There were thousands of golden leaves, scattered on the rubber ground.
I burst out in tears, with ugly wails and screams.
You were gone.
You disappeared from school one day. There were rumors about a hit and run car accident where a boy with our school uniform was knocked out. Someone's mom saw it. People didn't associate it with your disappearance. I didn't associate it with your disappearance, but out of denial.
We weren't close enough to know each other's parents, or was being familiar with parents not a deciding factor of our friendship? I don't know. I never figure out what happened to you. I tried contacting you through social media but received no replies. Why?
And so I waited and waited and waited as the ginkgo leaves turned from green to golden, disappeared, and turned green again.
I still swung, but I no longer tried to grab ginkgo leaves. Instead, I collected leaves from the ground. My school agenda converted into a wall where I glued the leaves, one leaf for each day. Even after school, I still bought agenda books to store ginkgo leaves. I still go to the park at the time our school ended, waiting for you.
As the season changed, as the roots of my hair turned grey, as wrinkles on my face formed and deepened, marking the passing of time, I waited, swinging under the ginkgo tree.