Friends Forever

That Matchbox Twenty song is playing on the radio. Odd, he thinks. They don't usually play Matchbox Twenty these days. Rob Thomas, yes. Not his band.

Slowly he turns into the junction and drove up to her gates and parked.

"You can do this", he assures himself. "Yes you can".

He grabs the box seated neatly on the passenger seat, all nice and neat with the big shiny blue ribbons and that retro '70s packaging he knew she likes and give it one last look.

Everything must be perfect.

He throws his shades on to the dashboard and steps out of the car, box safely in his hands and walks towards the gate. As he walk, he slips his hand into the pocket of his jeans and grabs the phone.

"I'm here. I'll wait", he texts. He smiles thinking how it was their inside joke. He can be punctual, he can be early or late; he still have to wait.

And he can never be mad. Never.

Well, except for that one time when he drove through the thunderstorm to meet her after she came back from that long holiday with her family somewhere up the Pyrenees, skiing for two weeks in a remote place without Internet or phone coverage. Or so she told him.

The traffic was bad. It was a Friday afternoon and it was raining. It took him twice the time to get there and got the same old "Give me 5 minutes" text when he told her he was already there, across the street, in front of her gates. He was actually 5 minutes away himself but it's that thing he always do, thinking with that simple white lie he don't have to wait too long.

It never actually worked though.

So anyway, on this one day he waited, and waited, and waited. He's not really the type that likes to ask a lot since to him that seems pushy and he sees himself as a gentleman, a caballeros on a magnificent steed, the last defender of the chivalry code of honour. Nevermind that in reality he is a high school graduate driving a compact. Reality is just a blank piece of wall, he said to her one day, a canvas for Romanticism's impressive facade.

He loves how she always admires his wit.  He loves her wit himself. Though her words are often blatant and sharp, he was often spared. It's her attitude that hurts him often.

That night he waited in his car as tiny droplets of rain crashing down from heaven pounded his car, like a orchestra with a blind, one armed conductor. Around him the world was busy living, in his cocoon he kept waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting until suddenly the three chords of his handphone text alert interrupted the orchestra.

The whole world stops quiet for him to read.

"Actually, I'm out with some friends for dinner. Thought I could make it back to see you but we're going to this thing somewhere outside of town. I see you tomorrow alright? Bye".

The rain outside gradually eases itself. This boy is raining inside his cocoon.

Well, that was months and months ago. Things have gotten better since. She didn't meant any harm anyway. There was just too many things going on then. He forgives her, he always does. Who wouldn't? He loves her and he's sure that she feels the same for him.

The box have been ready for weeks and weeks; he was just waiting for the right time, that gut feeling that tells him to go for it. He believes in those sort of things.

So, that day, there, in his best shirt, in his best jeans, in his best shoes is him at his best. Waiting for the love of his life. Slowly the steel gates creaks open and out comes a girl, her brown hair glistens under the bright summer sun. She is beauty.

He takes her hand, smiles and hands her the box.

"Thank you, Happy Valentine's Day!"

"Happy Valentine's Day, you're welcome"

"I have something for you too", she said and handed him an envelope.

"Sorry it's not quite as big as yours", she said with a frown.

"Do I look sad? Thank you! Don't worry about it okay?"

He puts a finger on each of her cheek and pushes it upwards.

"There, smile"

She smiles. They both laughs.

Hand in hand, they steps into his car and drives away for a nice, quiet lunch. About a couple of hours later, he drives her back home.

"Hey", she says. "Don't read that until you're at home okay? Malu la"

"Okay, you too", he replies. "Malu jugak"

On the way back to his home, he keeps a hand on the envelope, eager to read its content. Slowly his finger works its way through the seal and peels it, feeling the thick paper inside.

He can't wait.

He steps harder on the gas and the car roars. A few minutes later he is at home. Still in the car, he takes the card out of the envelope and turns in over. Slowly he reads the big red writing.

It reads, 'Friends Forever'.

Friends Forever.

He steps out of the car, opens the gate and walks into the house. He places the card on the coffee table and goes into the storeroom, took that piece of rope on the wall and sits on the lounge chair.

Slowly he ties that knot he learned some odd dozen years ago in Scout's camp.