i remember he loved abba-zaba…

November 15, 2011 at 1:51 pm Leave a comment

It strikes me as odd that this should happen now.

I only knew him from one class in high school, but for all the names and faces I can no longer place, his is one that will stay with me forever. It’s been tucked away in the unaccessed recesses of my mind for what must be years now, probably as long as his picture has been tucked away in a box in my closet.

The box was one of several that followed me from house to house, stuffed full of last minute things I didn’t have the patience to respectfully allocate to their like before moving, assuring myself I’d sort it out once I unpacked. Putting them in a closet was as far as I ever got until last week.

My father has been quite firm with the idea of not repeating mistakes made in moves past. While Mom and I would be quite content to put everything in boxes and chuck it in storage to sort once we’re settled, Father, truly in this case, knows best.

Out came the boxes, one by one, from behind the sliding closet door patrolled by cobwebs (and certainly not spiders’ webs, I assured myself) and the hours passed slowly as I pulled each item from within, tossing some immediately into the garbage with an exclamation of astonishment that I was ever allowed to keep them. Others I mulled over carefully: significant toys, a seemingly endless procession of mostly empty notebooks frequented by the imaginings of my childhood, that teeny bopper magazine whose place on my bookshelf in a former bedroom was concretely established in my memory. Books followed cassette tapes, which covered calendar pages and letters from old friends, eventually revealing photographs of various people from various stages in my life.

Thumbing through some shots taken for a class project, accompanied by others to fill the roll, laughing at this one, smiling wistfully at that one, I suddenly saw his face. It was a good picture. It captured just enough of his personality and physique to remind me why I fancied him, why I let him copy my math homework and gave him the odd answer on a test, why we sent notes back and forth on our T9 calculators, why I bought him a bunch of candy for his birthday, why I felt like a such an idiotic teenager when he hugged me in thanks, why I wore that low cut dress to the Homecoming dance and sat well within his view, why I will never, ever forget him.

Smiling, filled with warmth, I replaced the picture among its fellows and put it in a different box — the box of things that would be kept. There it stayed.

Until yesterday.

He would have been about 23 now. I heard he had a child on the way. I don’t know any of the details yet, as they haven’t had time to find their way down the grapevine of the various connections that remained intact as we all went out into the world, but it doesn’t really matter how or why he’s gone. It wont change anything.

It, indeed, strikes me as odd that I should have happened across that picture days before his untimely passing, and I’m not quite sure what to make of it. Many I know would call it coincidence, the rest might call it a sign — of what, I doubt they could say and as to the former party, I likewise doubt they could account for the absurdity of it. Regardless, I’m left dazed, mourning in a way, I suppose, which is fitting. He, like that hastily packed box, was one among many. Many faces, many crushes, many memories, but his is one that will long outshine even that picture, at home now and propped up on my coffee table until I find a suitable place for it.

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Entry filed under: random.

everything changes facebook wont let me sleep

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