I used to think the stars were holes in the sky and every time I looked into one I was looking at some far off wonder that I couldn’t see. Now I know what starts are, but I guess the rest of that still applies. It’s weird how things like that work out some times.
I was ten when I met Luke and I thought he was the coolest guy ever. He’d just moved in next door when I went to his house with my mom to drop off some cookies. I remember it better than almost anything else from my childhood. His mother opened the door and I could see him in the background sitting on a box reading a book that looked like it was too complex for a ten-year old. He was wearing a Star Wars shirt and the sun from the kitchen window fell on him and illuminated his strawberry blond hair. He looked up and his eyes met mine, he smiled and I looked at the ground.
In the months that followed we would make imaginary forts in the forest and pretend we were bandits or super heroes or CEOs. We would run around the neighborhood catching butterflies and sit for hours watching ladybugs or squirrels. When we were thirteen we sat on his back porch one night and planned our lives. He would go to college and become a doctor and a lawyer and get married and have two kids and seven dogs. I would become a journalist and would be a private investigator in my spare time and would have four kids, a cat, an iguana, two dogs, and a secret fortress under my house. We laughed all night long, making our plans more and more elaborate, but no matter what we planned on we decided that we would be friends forever.
Isn’t it always like that? You are close to someone and you think you will always be close to them. They will always be there for you and you for them. In the movies, this is always how it works.
We grew up and Luke went off to college to study engineering and I left to study English. I haven’t spoken to him since we were sixteen. But I still think he’s the coolest guy ever.