Today would have been your 29th birthday

But instead, Katie, you will always be stuck at the age of 19.

I remember my mom telling my brother and I there were going to be some new kids that Maxine would be watching.  And one was a 7 year old girl, just like me!  Her sister was 5, just like my brother, but I don’t think he was too thrilled about that.

You were the new girl at school, and we ended up being in Reading class together, since we were both smart cookies.    And we were in Talented and Gifted together.  Then you joined my Girl Scout troop too!  I was really excited to have a new friend who shared so many things with me.

You taught me how to be cool, even when we were little kids.  You taught me how to make friendship bracelets which contributed to my love of arts and crafts, that still continues to this day.

You went with me when I got my ears pierced for my 10th birthday.  You’d already had it done, so I thought you were a pro.  It hurt so bad, I’ve never gotten a piercing since.  But once it was done, we got an earring set for each of us, with those little broken hearts that read “Best Friends”.

We were on Student Council and were crossing guards together later that year.  Oh and we also competed in the Odyssey of the Mind tournament, traveling all over the state to perform our self-written play.  You remember how you were the cavewoman Zork, who invented the fork and barbecued pork?  And remember how we almost went to the world championships, but only missed it by 2/3 of a point?  Granted, the world championships were in Tennessee, but it still would have been awesome.

You moved 3 hours away at the end of 5th grade.  But that didn’t stop us.  You remember me coming to visit you and almost getting bucked off your horse?  I was so scared.  I remember us trying to wash your sheep, Siskel and Ebert, before the state fair started.  They had to each outweigh us by 100 pounds, but we had fun getting wet in the hot summer sun.

How about when you came on vacation with my family and I?  We put all our Scouting to use; riding horses, canoeing, and hiking.  I had a blast.

I wonder what would have happened, how our friendship might have progressed if you hadn’t moved away.  But we still tried, at least.

In fact, that’s what you were trying to do when you came to visit me 10 years ago.  I just wish you would have called me or emailed me, so I could tell you I was going to California with my family.  Maybe all of you wouldn’t have driven up.  Maybe all of you wouldn’t have made the trek clear out to my dorm and would have left sooner than you did.  Actually, maybe that fucker shouldn’t have been driving drunk.

All I know is that you left a note for me on the whiteboard of my room, telling me you stopped by.  And when I entered my room and checked my email, I had an email from Emily telling me that you were dead.

I’m sorry I couldn’t speak at your funeral.  Your mom asked me to, since all of our other friends were in the car with you, so they were still in the hospital.  I just couldn’t do it.  I couldn’t function all week leading up to it.  I was a basketcase all during the funeral too.

I really wanted to speak though.  At least to take the strain off your sister, so she wouldn’t have to worry about it.  But she soldiered on, and didn’t falter when she spoke at all.  I don’t think she’d dealt with it at all.  I still worry about her, Katie, and I feel bad that I didn’t take the responsibility to be her big sister.  It’s something I regret, because I think I could have helped her maybe, to help keep her head on straight.  As it is, she goes by her middle name now in some sort of rebellion against whatever.  But I still call her Sarah, because she’ll always be Sarah to me.

Your cousin spoke at the funeral too, the one I met when we were kids, the one who has the same birthday as me.  Isn’t it funny the things you remember?

Around this time, I was taking a class called Oral Interpretation of Literature.  Pretty pointless, but I happened to read this poem of my choice, aloud in that class, just one month before you died.

Twenty-Five

by Rod McKuen

Where were we

when the coming of the rain

made us turn from conversation to the window?

In mustard fields maybe,

or the love jungle,

and as we talked

we were with others, not ourselves.

I was thinking of old birthdays and holidays gone wrong

and pretty people seen on streetcars

but never met.

Selling soda bottles to pay for movie matinees.

I was twelve.

Tarzan was the man I most resembled in those days.

How can I have grown so old without once swinging on a

vine?

Did you think of party dresses

and high school plays

or hallways full of lovers not yet met?

The mind is such a junkyard;

it remembers candy bars

but not the Gettysburg Address,

Frank Sinatra’s middle name

but not the day your best friend died.

If in your mind there is some corner

not yet occupied with numbers you may never need,

remind your memory of the day

we turned to watch the rain

and turning back forgot

that we belonged to one another.

I haven’t forgotten, Katie.  How could I?  You impacted my life more than any friend I’ve ever known, even 10 years after your death.  I love you and miss you.

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