On your last day we sat outside in the rain doing everything and nothing. We sat down in nothing but our school singlets and shorts, allowing the rain pour down on our nearly bare bodies. It was exciting; the prospect of just sitting half naked in the rain because we knew our parents would not approve of us doing that. They would have dragged us in by our ears, shouted at us and gave endless speeches about malaria, cough, catarrh and how they wouldn’t sleep in the hospital with us when we got sick before finally ending it all by flogging us five and seven times, each according to our ages. But none of that mattered to us now, because today was your last day here.

You told me you didn’t want to go but your parents had said you had to and their decision was final. Even the doctors said the same thing. When they thought you were asleep you overheard them speaking to each other, saying there was nothing more they could do for you except allow you spend some time at home before you left. When you asked your parents where you were going to, your mother had squeezed your hand and told you that you were going to see Jesus. You told me you didn’t want to see Jesus and I told you no one really ever wanted to.

You asked me if Jesus was nice and I said yes, but you weren’t convinced. You asked if Jesus was like the adults who hated when we played games and flogged us for no reason and I said no, that he was different. He would be nice to you and would allow you play all the games you wanted to play. Jesus loved playing games and would play with you forever. He also wouldn’t, like the other children on our street, make fun of your bald head. You smiled when I told you that.

You made me promise to come visit you sometime, perhaps during the third term holiday and I promised I would do that. You made me promise to bring all your toys for you; your teddy bears, the Marvel superhero action figures and your new PSP that your mother had said you couldn’t take to where you were going. You smiled and asked if toys were allowed there and I said yes. Toys were allowed in heaven.

Your mother had told you that you wouldn’t be going away alone. You would be going away with the nurse that took care of you the first time you went to the hospital. She would take care of you on the way to see Jesus. You were happy when you told me that because you were scared of going alone and I told you I wouldn’t be able to follow you. Now you wouldn’t be alone.

You asked if I wanted to eat and I said yes. You went inside and brought out four packets of the cabin biscuit your mother had told us not to touch. I imagined her coming back from work to see us eating the biscuits she had strictly told us not to touch. She would shout and shout and shout, then she would tell my mother and my mother would flog me for my longa-throat, but lately, your mother allowed you do whatever you liked and by extension, my mother too. Perhaps they thought it would ease the pain of you leaving for both of us. You punctured your biscuit open while I peeled mine off slowly. I rolled my eyes. You were such a baby and was never one for being patient and tidy. At the count of three, we broke our biscuits into two and quickly shoved the halves into our mouths before the rain got to them and made them soggy. This was to be the last thing we’d eat together before you leave.

I told you I would miss you and when you told me you would miss me too, tears started falling from my eyes. It was the first time I had cried in front of you since I heard you were leaving. It was the first time I had cried since I heard you were leaving because somehow, I had always thought you wouldn’t leave. You would be better when you came back from the hospital and things would go back to the way they were before the first time you coughed out blood.

You saw me crying and you told me that I shouldn’t cry, that you’d be back soon. Of course that was what your mother had told you, and like the silly child you were, you believed it. You always believed whatever it is she said, taking her words for facts as if she was incapable of lying. Did you know how many times she had lied to you? Did you know how many times she had told you that you would get better, that the doctors would fix you, but you only got worse and worse until here we were?

In that moment I hated you. I hated you for not understanding, for the truly naïve look you had on your face, for truly believing that somehow you were going to survive this when no one ever did. I hated your mother for filling you up with this false sense of hope and I hated you for eating it up so much to the point that you couldn’t even understand the simple fact that you were dying. You weren’t going away and coming back soon. You were dying. DYING! DEATH! DEAD! And you were never coming back. Dead people don’t come back- dead people never come back. What there couldn’t you understand? I hated you because you were leaving me alone. Alone and forever, forever and alone.

Your last day, like your first day, began with a cough. It was a small cough, nothing too serious, I thought. Perhaps it was because we were under the rain. The cough was nothing to worry about, but then you kept on coughing and coughing and coughing and you wouldn’t stop. You left my hands and fell to the sandy floor and continued coughing. A fresh set of tears pooled in my eyes as I watched you wriggle on the ground for life, like some hopeless insect. I didn’t need to be told, it was happening right in front of me. You were leaving. You were leaving me and you were leaving me alone.

I didn’t run to call for help. I don’t know why I didn’t, perhaps I wanted to be the last person with you before you left. I sat down beside you, not minding the murky wet sand and held you in my arms as you went. I patted your back as you coughed and used your singlet to clean up the blood pooling at the corners of your mouth and rubbed your head as though that would relieve you of the pain you were in and then I waited.

I waited till the blood stopped pouring out of your mouth, I waited till your coughing stopped and your breathing slowed down. I waited till your tears stopped rolling down from your eyes. I waited until you took one last deep breath and your heart slowed down to a complete stop. And then I screamed for help and ran to get my mother.