There was, then there wasn't

There was a September day. There was a cafeteria; white walls, non-descript. There was a choir room packed with teachers, singers, troubadours. There were dresses; shades of purple, greens and blues, all with the shame of satin. There were friends, strangers and the anxiety of freshman year. There was Brandon.

There was a day in May. There was sun, warmth and holiday freedom. There were popsicles, talks of summer, driving too fast with the windows down. There was a pool, drive-thru lunches and too little sunscreen. There was music, laughter, innocence. There was a river. There were butterflies. There was a phone call. There wasn’t Brandon.

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I was too young to have mastered any sense of confidence, but I was in high school now, I had my friends that I had known for a few years and a brother that would watch over me and in the end, introduce me to his friends. So one evening I met Kristen at the school for the ‘open house’ choir event. Everyone had to go to mix and mingle and try on our future performance uniforms. Satin. Questionable stitching. Indeterminable lifespans. All around awful. After we chose the best fitting possibility, cringed and complained adequately, Kristen and I parked ourselves on a back wall and talked about what was to come as high school freshmen. The conversation was vague, but the introduction was not. My brother had picked up his choir tuxedo and met up with his band of familiar faces that were on the prowl for someone to throw their sarcastic wit at. They landed to the left of Kristen and I. Boys being boys, talking about sports, cars and girls. Someone uttered to my brother, ‘Heard you have a sister that’s a Freshman, better watch out.’  It was kindly pointed out that the now red-faced girl standing next to him was just that Freshman, just that sister. That was Brandon and that was me.

There were looks exchanged, football games and shared lunches. There were yellow lockers, empty hallways and homecoming dance invitations. There were white flowers, smiles and suit shopping. There were nights on dates, morning drives to nowhere, afternoon ice cream and school days skipped. There were bonfires, soft kisses and warmth in the winter. There were classic cars, new cars, hockey games and lacrosse practices. There were memories, smiles, shades of red, yellow, blue and love. There was youth, but there was fun.

I was too young to capture emotion in a bottle, too young to cast a net over my confidence, too young to latch on to the warmth of feeling beautiful.

Three years later it all came rushing back, but I was still too young. Too young to feel the sting of death. Too young to be not so close, but not so far. Too young to harden myself against the raw emotion this time and the following five years that brought a similar sadness to my feet eight times more.

But I was old enough to remember until today, this day. The emotion, the fun, the warmth, the confidence that a forever smiling young boy gave me for a short time when I was too young. It doesn’t take much: the words of the poem, a note from his parents, a photo of his family, a flutter of butterfly wings or a warm summer day. I was too young, but I am forever grateful that I was old enough to remember.