The Saints Of Mibba

Nothing is ever planned out from the start. This is something we all learn at different ages. Me? I learned this when I was very small, but it never really hit me until about a few months ago.

Some people want to grow up making lots of money. Sometimes they unfortunately end up working at Wal-Mart or some other industrial company.

Other people want to discover new cures for diseases. Some of those people turn out to just sit around on a couch all day flipping through channels.

Then there are those who reach their dreams. They know life isn't planned for them, and so they try their best and their hardest to make sure they are in control of their own life. They won't take anything for granted and they work hard to end up at their goal.

I had a friend who dreamed about playing professional football when he grew up.

He ended up dying tragically at the age of 15.

I guess it never really hit me until his death that sometimes, even when you're a genuinely good person, even when you don't take anything for granted and you love and respect everyone around you, life will turn its back on you and leave you in the cold.

And when that happens, death waits for nobody.

My friend's name was Kyle C. He was everything that made a boy perfect: strong, athletic, smart, attractive, and certainly friendly. He was well-liked by everyone in school, by every group: the preps, the jocks, the nerds, the weird kids, the stoners, and, of course, the teachers.

You just couldn't stereotype Kyle as being a "dumb jock" either. He aced all his classes and still managed to keep his spot on the varsity football team even though he was only a sophomore.

I can't truly describe how popular and amazing he was. He wasn't one of those loud obnoxious boys that shove the smaller kids into the lockers and claim popularity that way. No. Kyle was one of the kids who picked up books that fall from peoples' arms and helped un-stuff the freshmen from the lockers.

I don't think there was a single soul who genuinely hated Kyle.

Now, you might be asking, this story is supposed to be about me, so why am I writing all this stuff about Kyle this and Kyle that?

Two words: soul mate.

And I don't mean the lovey-dovey soul mate. I mean the best friend, the true cheese to the macaroni, or the nachos, or whatever you like to put cheese on. Kyle and I went to each other for everything, whether it was a bad grade in a class, or getting cut from a team – whatever!

When he got his first girlfriend, he told me about it first. Sure, I was protective at first (almost like a mother!) but I didn't want him to get hurt. Can you blame me?

Anyway, it was in November, a few days before our school's football team was going to the state championships. Kyle was excited; his first varsity game was a big deal to him, after all. We spent the whole day together at the mall. We ate at the food court, bought some clothes and videogames, and just ran around all over the place.

We parted ways after that. I got a ride home from my uncle, and Kyle said he would grab a ride from a friend who worked at Abercrombie & Fitch. He wanted to hang around a little bit more. I told him I'd see him playing on the field at the championships, and he smiled. We said goodbye and parted ways.

It was apparent the next day that Kyle never got a ride home, and he had to walk.

On the way, a car hit him as he crossed the highway. He died on impact.

Kyle would never play in the state football championships.

*-*-*

The day that Kyle died, a part of me wanted to die as well. I say "wanted to," because even though I love him and miss him, I know I couldn't completely lose myself. I admit that I did become more sullen and aggressive (I spent a lot of the time afterwards either crying or lashing out at people).

I was hurt. Can you blame me? I lost my other half, the other pea in the pod or some other cute phrase you can think of. But slowly, I began to cope. I began to smile again and associate with everyone else in school, just like before. All I needed was time.

Our football team went to the finals knowing that Kyle was out there with his team in spirit. There weren't fourteen, but fifteen players on the field that freezing November night. You could just feel it. Boys were standing up, totally shirtless despite the cold, and had painted on their stomachs '#6' – Kyle's football number. Others donned homemade T-shirts and sweatshirts with his initials and sport number written on with Sharpie or paint. And it must've been the spirit of the moment or something, because our school won that night, even with such a huge, demoralizing loss.

After that, a lot of people healed. Kids began laughing again, teachers began making jokes. The atmosphere of sorrow and loss had vanished completely.

And as for me?

I finally learned that life has unexpected plans for you. No matter how much of a martyr you are, no matter how pure you think your soul is, something might happen that doesn't go according to plan. I don't think Kyle deserved what happened to him at all, but it did and nobody can change that.

But hey, you never know. Maybe heaven needed an extra football player.

Kyle didn't have a choice whether he wanted to live or die.

But his passing made me realize something: I do.

And I'm going to make the best of what I have right now. For everyone. For Kyle. For me.