Noe Hijara Pedrajas

In Him Alone

By Noe Hijara Pedrajas

It was the summer of 1990, fiesta day in our barrio, when my best friend died of leukemia. He was only 27, I was 12. Every time I remember that sad day, I feel like crying, though I try to hide my pain with a smile. He was my best friend, so loving, so dear to me. He seemed to possess everything I could want in a friend. He would hug me whenever I felt alone. He was fun to be with. He would defend me against the taunts of others. He was creative and helped me with my school projects. I remember in sixth grade our class was assigned to make a bamboo vase. Not even my father knew how to make one. I didn’t know what to do. My best friend came to my rescue and helped me fashion it.