Magic is someone who thinks like you, feels like you, understands your feelings and likes similar things as you. Magic, or as I like to call him by the Spanish meaning, “Magia” was someone who I never thought I knew the way I met him all these years.
I met him the way I met most people, through school. We had class together and socialized just like classmates would socialize with one another. It would have been my 3rd year in our middle school and his 2nd year, even though we were both in the same grade.
I asked him for help in our Algebra class without knowing we would socialize sooner after that. Next period, we had gym and played soccer together. During the game, he came up to me giving me a high five. Then, he said, “From Algebra class.” We took Italian together and our bond grew. I remember him complementing my name and giving me high fives repeatedly during the conversation. He asked me, “What else do you like besides high fives?” My response was, “I like hugs also.” We would hug every time we say bye to each other.
It was Thursday, September 18th, 2008. The day that I never thought would be the last time I see him. By that time, our friendship became something based on trust. He knew everything I went through in my past, and with the people we had class with. I always told him about my issues, and about my aunt who came from Puerto Rico to visit and things I like to do. I never told him he was “Magic” to me, but based on our friendship, I referred to him as “Magia.” I constantly told myself, “El era la magia de mi vida,” which means”He was the magic of my life.”
We were sitting away from the rest of our Italian class having our own conversation while our substitute teacher watched the class. Halfway through the period, the rest of the class noticed our increasing friendship. Those same students bullied me the previous year and I knew right away they were jealous and envious. In my mind, I kept hearing the words to “Estos Celos” by Alexis Ramos. After class, we hugged and said bye. I hoped to spend time with him during lunch, meet his friends and keep in touch with him through MySpace.
I knew I had to keep in touch with him on MySpace. During our conversation that day, he mentioned he was moving to New Jersey at the end of the month. I gave him my e-mail address for him to find me.
Friday came. He didn’t show up. Then, Monday and he still wasn’t in school.
During the middle of the week, it hit me when I was sitting in what was once our Health class.
“I don’t think he is ever coming back. He has Chicken Pox plus he’s moving. I spoke to his mom.”
When our English teacher told our Health teacher this news, I was devastated. Not by the fact that he was moving, but that I didn’t get a chance to tell him goodbye. I didn’t get a chance to sit with him at lunch to meet his friends.
That end of the month that he moved was the day that my aunt left to Pennsylvania after staying here for a month. I remember that first trip to Pennsylvania as if it was yesterday. I couldn’t stop thinking about my best friend realizing that I had to cross the state he was moving to in order to get to my destination. That destination where I wasn’t expecting to say goodbye to my aunt.
My idea was to say goodbye to Magic at the end of the week in school and to my aunt at the airport to return home to Puerto Rico.
After leaving my aunt in Pennsylvania, I saw a waterfall along the French Creek. I don’t remember that image too well because it was the only time I went past there. That waterfall marked the beginning of my depression. It was that time that Magic went into thin air like magic.
Every time I missed him, I remember that waterfall. I hoped and prayed that he’d move back like most of my friends who moved to places that were not Florida. With the phone number his friend had given me; I tried to call or text him as much as I can.
That first week of February, he called me with a surprise.
“I’m moving back to New York.”
I was so happy that God answered my prayers. The only thing I was not sure about was when. The one feeling I had was where he would go to high school the following year. He was raised between the Bronx and near St. Joseph’s Seminary in Yonkers. I thought, “If he moves back within a year, the things about him would be the same as they used to be.”
I got accepted into Lincoln High School near the seminary. I knew he would attend because he lived near the school and he was into the Arts like me.
I felt as if he was present everywhere I went. He moved back, but where is he?
The music bell rings. Everyone runs out of the classroom. Some go to their lockers and others straight to the exit. It was 2:30 p.m. in mid-October of my Freshman year. A tall, medium build, dark skin Dominican guy walks towards me as I’m walking towards the exit.
“Hey, it’s me! Remember me?”
We had a small talk while walking out of the school. Then, we hugged just like we always did back in 8th grade. When I got on the bus, Raven Symone’s “Some Call It Magic” was lingering in my head.
We were in the same Century Honors Global History class that first half of the school year. We talked about everything that happened to each of us during the past year. We told stories about our travels, school and summer camp.
One day, I felt something was out of order. When I told him about my issues, either he would not say a word or he would yell at me as if I wanted to bother him. It happened sometimes, whether it was in the beginning or end of the period. That was the only class I had with him that year.
Days after that, there was a substitute teacher in our class. Our regular teacher never left any work for us to do. I tried to have a normal conversation with him, but he refused. Minutes later, silence was an unexpected upbringing throughout the entire class. Silence, more silence, even more silence and so much more silence up to the point I started breaking down into tears for the rest of the period. I had my head down and nobody noticed until the end of the period. Whoever asked, I never told them it was because of his rejection. I simply didn’t like talking about my issues.
He didn’t talk to me so much as he used to and it ended up being him never wanting to talk to me anymore. When I made my Facebook account halfway through the school year, I started adding people I knew including him. A few days after I added him, I never got a friend request approval from him. I was worried that he hadn’t been on Facebook or that he didn’t notice my friend request. I told him I sent him a friend request.
“I didn’t get it. Try to send it again and I will accept you.”
It was the same story over and over as the months went by. After the last friend request sometime during the summer, reality hit me. He humiliated me on Facebook with a status claiming he sent me a message telling me to leave him alone. One of our classmates and mutual friend on Facebook copied and pasted the status tagging me for me to see it. So many of our classmates liked the status and commented with mean things. He never sent me a message telling me to leave him alone. I went to the bathroom and cried for about 10 minutes. It was the worst thing I’ve experienced in my life.
When 10th grade came, I walked into my first period Century Honors Global History II class. I was so not looking forward to seeing my classmates, especially with him being in my class and in my Chemistry class also. It was hard for me to socialize with anyone that year.
Magic went into thin air like magic, just like an erupted volcano in the middle of nowhere. Nobody will ever know when it will happen. Nobody will ever know when a friendship will end for a short time or forever. I never thought I would meet him the way I knew him. I never thought he would turn out to be the kind of person he became when we were in high school. Just like nobody will ever know when is the next time a volcano will erupt, the destruction of our friendship will be a mystery to me.