The Clock Strikes Eight

Eight has always been my favorite number.

When I was a boy, it was the only number that I struggled with. My little hands shook as I tried making a perfect figure eight, so I practiced and practiced and practiced until my hand was smudged with blue ink and two perfect little circles sat on the page in front of me.

Now, at age 18, those two perfect little circles suddenly appeared on the back of my left hand.

“Woah, got a new tattoo already!” Nolan says, playfully wrapping his arm around my shoulder when he sees me. “Happy birthday, dude! Can’t believe you got tatted up already.”

“It’s Sharpie,” I deadpan. His smile doesn’t falter and he starts chatting about his adventurous morning of helping grandmas in need and saving falling babies as we walk to school. I’ve always been envious of Nolan’s heroism and absolute need to save those in need.

The goodness of his heart truly knew no bounds. He would jump in front of traffic to save a kid from getting hit by a car.

A strange feeling tickles at my neck as I’m sitting in third period English, listening to Miss Bolton drone on and on about Othello and how interesting Shakespeare actually is if you pay attention hard enough. As I try my hardest to not fall asleep by twirling my pencil in my hand, I hear the phantom whispers of something in my ear. It almost sounds like a chant. The steady rhythm of it almost sounds like a lullaby.

Nolan is surprisingly studious, taking note of everything that Miss Bolton is saying. When he catches me watching him, he winks before going back to jotting notes in his notebook.

And then at lunch when I’m eating with my own group of friends—the quiet sort who like playing video games and watching anime—Nolan passes by our table and discreetly slips a candy bar in my hand like a silent care package. I catch his eye a few moments later from across the cafeteria, and he simply gives me a thumbs up before returning to heated conversation with his friends.

When the final school bell finally rings, I just want to go home and nap, but Nolan has other plans.

He drags me to his house and we sit in his room playing video games and eating snacks for hours.

“You know,” Nolan says, turning to me after beating me for the umpteenth time in Smash. “I’m really glad you’re my best friend, Lucas.”

I nervously laugh. “Where is this coming from?”

Nolan smiles that lopsided smile that nearly everybody in our grade level is obsessed with. His grin is infectious and soon enough I find myself smiling too despite myself.

“Out of all my friends… you’re the one I care about the most, you know? While other people might like me for my looks or popularity, I’ve never doubted that you like me for… well, me. I just…” He lightly knocks my shoulder with his. “Happy birthday, man.”

I look away, feeling my cheeks heat up. “Thank you.”

“Come on, let’s play again!”

We play until our eyes hurt. His mom makes my favorite, her specialty fried rice, and after dinner his sister takes an ice cream cake out of the freezer, beautifully embossed with the words “Happy Birthday!” on it. Nolan puts candles on top with the number 18 and lights them up. The three of them sing me happy birthday, but before I blow them out, Nolan grabs my shoulders and says, “Make a wish first!”

I close my eyes and before I wish for anything I’m just grateful. I’m grateful to Nolan and his family for remembering my birthday. I felt lost and alone when my dad died at age eight and my mom buried herself in her work. Of course, she texted me a happy birthday message, but how much I would’ve loved to see in person today as well.

I take a deep breath and make my wish. I wish the best to Nolan. I wish him the best in luck and life. I know deep in my heart that he’s destined for great things. It would be enough for me just to know that I have a friend in high places.

I blow out the candles and share a sliver of happiness with Nolan and his family as we all indulge in the icy goodness.

When the clock strikes 8pm, I feel the world around me start to fall. The last thing I see is Nolan’s wide, gray eyes as he reaches out to try and grab me. Then, all fades to black.