hey reuben

stars in his eyes -- that's what i think he had. he would stare out windows, humming a tune, and walk slowly, moodily, down the street outside, still humming a tune, and spend time between classes, still humming. and he could sing, so we would smile as we watched him. when we were 6, reuben and i, we decided to participate at the school’s annual talent contest. we used to compete for a prize in elocution too, but i would beat him hands down there. so, to put me in place, he decided to do the same by proving i couldn't sing.

at 4 pm that afternoon, a million afternoons ago, he and i, and around 15 other small, 6-year-old boys in blue shorts and maroon ties, decided to get on the big stage and sing our teachers a couple of songs. i didn't stand a chance. reuben won first place.

we kept doing it for years. he and i. i, winning at elocution; he, whipping me at the talent contest year after year. it didn't bother me at all. i knew the boy could sing, but i was comfortable with doing pretty much anything on stage by then, so it was fun. also, i realise, i can now tell adolescent boys and girls that i sang everything from stevie wonder to shakin' stevens in public, and that i walked away without being booed off stage. quite an achievement if you consider the closeted space most adolescents seem to reside in these days.

reuben and i didn't really get along. there was always something edgy between us, thanks to years of competing against each other for some ridiculous prize or another. i would pinch him in class. he would yell and have the teacher send me to the principal or the supervisor (depending on the other horrid things i happened to have done on that particular day). then, i'd come back and pinch him again. he had a knack of losing his temper in a minute, yelling and turning pink, before calming down as suddenly as he had flared up. by the end of the day, however, he would walk past the school gates and get back into that slow, steady groove, humming as he walked past screaming classmates and crowded gola-stalls.

things improved after school, considering we had both given up competing by then. i'd run into him at college, where he would tell the girls about his life and, i imagine, sign them a couple of songs. he always was good at it, after all. he worked at benetton's for a bit, then tried something else, and finally joined the merchant navy. we'd talk whenever he came back, between trips. on the day he turned 20, i gate-crashed his birthday party. "i turn 21 next year," he said, as we stood in a quiet corner for a minute. "so, come." i smiled at him and said, "i'd love to." he left on another trip soon after.

four months later, reuben came back. in a wooden box. he had fallen off a mast 60-feet high, crashing his head against the railing on deck. i'm told he died instantly.

i went over to say good-bye, along with a hundred other classmates who, like me, knew reuben and remembered watching him walk, slowly, humming his tunes. i was fairly calm, until the coffin cover was raised. 'reuben rodrigues, 20, r. i.p.' and then, something inside me snapped. something that has yet to mend eight years later.

i don't know where you are, reuben, but i hope to god you're singing.