A boy in my neighborhood died the other day. He was hit by a truck while biking to school. The article I read said he was fourteen years old, and described him as soft-spoken and studious. His parents declined to comment.
I wonder what dreams this boy had. Perhaps he had grand and outlandish dreams not befitting of his image. Dreams that made him blush to think about while lying in bed. Perhaps he was an aspiring musician, a talented guitarist, that dreamt of playing in front of stadiums filled to the brim with fans and cheers. In front of teachers and classmates, he would only speak when spoken to and reservedly so. But in his room, his guitar would sing feverishly in his blistered hands with a depth of emotion beyond his years. In his senior year, he would finally muster the courage to play in one of those talent events at school. The performance goes anything but perfect. He fumbled on the most difficult parts, just as he worried he would, and he couldn't bear to lift his face to the audience upon struggling through the outro. But when the cheering erupts in front of him, his anxiety melts into an overwhelming rush of validation and tears. Perhaps he decides then and there to pursue music, and embrace the roadblocks to come.
I wonder if this boy would have found love. Perhaps he would have met his first love in a couple of years' time, his high school sweetheart. His face would flush every time their eyes met and he would read every text from her three or four times while failing to hold in his smile. He would have had no doubt she was the one, despite all accusations of naivety around him. But then things would get complicated. Going to different colleges in different time zones, meeting new people, increasing responsibilities, difficulty arranging times to video call with each other. He continued to convince himself that it would work out if they persevered, ignoring the signs of the indifference and frustration budding in both of them. That first relationship would fade into blurred memories, and he would subsequently meet other partners, each less memorable than the last. But perhaps he would meet someone new, in a rather uneventful way. Someone who is compassionate, intelligent, and has a laugh that brings an unknown sense of comfort to his heart. Someone who he can trust to be there with him in his toughest times, and who he can trust himself to be there for. The honeymoon phase soon passes and he begins to see her imperfections, but even so, he comes to know that his heart is only truly full when her hand is in his.
I wonder what this boys' relationship with his parents was like, and what it would have become. The parents that declined to comment. Perhaps they were loving. Often too strict and often too critical in their fumbling through parenthood, but always with the intention of giving their child as bright a future as possible. Perhaps there would have been strains in the relationship. Not supporting their son's choice of career, frequent arguments at the dinner table, fewer and fewer visits and calls home. But perhaps the relationship would eventually begin to mend and evolve. The boy grows into someone no longer a boy, and begins to see his parents point of view. And maybe one day, his parents would also come around to accepting his choices as well. The veneer of conflict and stubbornness would gradually peel off over the years to expose the love that was always there. And perhaps, on his wedding day, his parents would be sitting in the first row, shedding tears with full hearts. I wonder if his parents will ever think about such things in the years to come. What could have been. Perhaps it would be too much to bear.
I wonder what meaning there was to this boys' life and death. There is no future in which this boy is still alive. And yet, there is also no future where this boy did not exist. A future where his songs are never to be performed, where he and his soulmate will never meet, and where his mother and father will carry inconsolable hearts that will never heal. Although for only fourteen short years, this boy was here. And maybe that alone is more meaningful than we will ever realize.
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