Do you remember how we first met? We were near the walnut tree that grew on the meadows of our elementary school field. The fruits of the walnut tree were rotting. They had these gaping holes on their rotting flesh, maggots inside devouring the bitter treat.
Do you remember how I hurled that rotting walnut-fruit at you? You might not. It was so long ago. I think my throw barely missed. The long lecture I got from Ms. DeLucia about kindness certainly didn’t miss. That hurt a bit. At the time, I wasn’t mature enough to be sorry I threw the fruit, but I was selfish enough that I felt sorry I was getting yelled at. I’ve been trying to remember why I threw that walnut-fruit at you or why I really didn’t like you in elementary school. I don’t know why. Even then, you were very kind.
Do you remember how you called me arrogant on the bus? We were on the bus back from the high school. There were five of us—four kids and that kind driver. I thought solving geometry problems really fast made me really cool. You knew my arrogance made me a jerk.
Do you remember how you sat with me for all of algebra? I remember the first day. I got lost in some corridor of upstairs G. I walked in just as the bell was about to ring. As I swiveled my head, desperately searching for a partner, you put your backpack down next to mine. I didn’t expect it. You had other close friends in the class, and I was just the irritating, arrogant middle-schooler.
Do you remember all the classes, concerts, projects, labs, we’ve been through together? I sat next to you for years—you and your meticulous notes on extra-bright-white paper and your freshly opened bottle of water flavored with a hint of something. You showed me how to be a good student. I still take my notes on white (sadly, not extra-bright-white) paper just like I saw you take them. When I do projects now, I try to be the first one with my work done—just like you.
Do you remember how you made a whole freaking website for that one project? I couldn’t believe it. I tried to compliment the beautiful graphics you’d made, but you just said your code was messy. It wouldn’t hurt to take a little credit sometimes. The work you do is incredible.
Now that you’re leaving next year, I’ve been trying to remember everything. I’ve been trying to unearth the spe cial moments from this entropic heap of memory that’s becoming more disordered with each passing day. I wish I could remember more than I do now. I feel like all I have now is a collection of fleeting moments that just barely glimpse the surface of the person you really are.
I hope I remember the important things. I’ll remember how kind you were, how you forgave the kid who assaulted you with rotting walnut-fruits and sat with him in algebra. I’ll remember how diligent you were, how you always finished your homework before I did. I’ll remember how funny you were, how I could easily spend hours talking to you. But all these superlatives aside, I hope—actually, I know—I’ll always remember how lucky I was to know you.