The Fighting 44s

His last name was right after mine—I was doomed to sit next to him all year. Second period Physiology my senior year, right in between Mr. Baseball Star and Mr. Varsity Quarterback. I dreaded having to endure such an early class with those two. Oh, they were nice enough. They just weren’t the people I would have chosen to sit next to for the entirety of my last year of high school.

He had a good-natured smile and a laid-back California boy personality. He talked to girls with innocently flirtatious ease, confident in his ability to get away with just about anything. He poked me in class, trying to get me to smile, laugh, or even get mad—just to see what kind of reactions I had behind my poker face.

At first I was irritated by his constantly needy classroom presence.

“What’s the answer to this, Meeeeeya?”

“What did you put for the answer on this question?

“Did you get the homework? Can I see it, Meeeeeya?”

“Meeeeeya, you’re going to be my lab partner!”

He called me “Meeeeeya,” just to make me laugh. When he first decided that I was to be his lab partner, I was wary—I expected that I would have to do all the work. He surprised me with his earnest efforts to earn his half of the grade. Day by day, I began to enjoy the Physiology class I’d been determined to hate.

After some time, I began to laugh at his jokes, his easy laugh, and his attempts at a friendship with a “smart girl,” as he put it. When he poked me, I poked him back—though all I got was a stubbed finger for my troubles. He would come into class behind me, always right as the bell rang, and either give me a bear hug from behind (“Let go, you’re squishing me!”) or lift me right off my lab stool up toward the ceiling, laughing, “I can benchpress you, easy!”

I began to realize, as I got to know him, and began to tell him about my life at home with my conservative, demanding parents, that he was a genuinely sympathetic soul. Even though my existence was a world away from his, he listened and tried to understand, to bridge the gap that our respective backgrounds and upbringing created.

The biggest lab of the year was a cat dissection. We were all apprehensive, unsure what the lab would entail. When that morning finally came, we entered the classroom, which smelled of chemicals and death. The cats looked tragic, stripped of their skin, eyes partially open, and reeking of preservatives. The skin on their torsos had been peeled back but their feet still retained the skin, and fur. He tried to play off his alarm at the idea of touching the cat by naming it. He considered “Fluffy,” displaying an unexpected sense of irony. But, for some reason he decided on “Snowball.” So Snowball it was.

The first task was to sever the tail. The bravado vanished; he stared at me.

“I can’t do it,” he said.

“Yes you can, here, take this, and cut, right here.”

“No, you do it. I can’t do it.”

After arguing back and forth about it while the rest of the class moved on to the second, and then third tasks, he finally gave in.

“I’m sorry, Snowball, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said, and winced noticeably at the crunch as the tail came off. I hadn’t expected this. Not from him.

We became friends, tentatively, exploring a new kind of friendship, for both of us. I, who had never had the patience to explain things to anyone, found myself willing to wait for him to understand because I saw the honest effort in his face. He, who had never really been friends with one of the “smart kids,” and a girl who wasn’t interested in him for a relationship, laughed when I would reject him outright, comfortable in the knowledge that he could hit on me outrageously without worrying that I would take him seriously, or have my feelings hurt.

He told me stories about football, about parties. I would tsk sympathetically as he showed me his various football injuries. I would help him with Physiology, he would crack jokes and make me laugh when I was in a sour mood. He would sing obscene songs and tell disgusting jokes just to see me roll my eyes and laugh at him.

The rest of the year flew by. He signed my yearbook, taking up an entire page with his big sloppy writing:

Meeeekdizzle

It has been a fun-crazy one with you. I thank you for trying to keep some sanity in my crazy 2nd period. I don’t know how annoying I must have been, but I enjoyed having fun with you. In a non-sexual way I enjoyed poking you in the side to spark some life into you every [once] in [a while]. Have fun in college and I already know you will do well. Just don’t get too crazy if [that's] at all possible. Thank you for putting up with my crazy ass. I will miss you, and wish you only the best. You have a great future ahead of you. Have fun, I wish you the best.
Hank

After we went our separate ways, I received a few messages from him on the Internet:

[You] think I would forget about my science buddy, Meeeeeya. how is school treating u? How is the weather right now there. I live in snow and it is pretty and scary at the same time. I cant wait for spring break, I neeeed it. Football has been kicking my ass. U probably wouldnt even recognize me anymore, I hav put on 12 good pounds and hav let my hair grow out. On the other hand u look great on ur picture. Meeeeeeeya looking all good, thats what I like to see

[I]t sux because I hav football every minute of the day and then I hav to study on top of that. Football is insane. The toughest thing I havever done. We run at 530 every morning. Lift and watch tape in the afternoon. Throw at night. Then school. Ur good with school so u should b alright. Why cant u go home for spring break. Football wants me to stay up here all summer but thats not going to happen. Cant wait to get some nice weather in san diego!!!!! it snow all the time here but I hav gotten used to it by now. I have class now but will talk to u later. Later meeeeeeya.

[I] remember u talking about ur parents in class with me. [F] and I are still close as hell. I hav gotten bigger and I am very proud of it. (hahaha) hav fun visiting ur friends. I do enjoy football but now it is more a business then a game. I still don’t like coach [G] but I wont get into that. I hope you have a good time for ur break though. I hav to hav a good time, I need it. I party a little bit but not as much as high school. Also im a business major and am always busy. How weird [I am] a straight edge….. weird. Hav a good time and I will talk to u soon.

[I] find it too hard to call a lot of people to keep in touch with while im in college. Break was nice to relax. It is to short. I cant wait for summer, school is really getting crazy and so is football. I hope ur break is nice for u.

I was happy for him. A business major, working hard at school, and working hard at football. I was happy for him, and proud. He obviously had a goal in mind, a future planned out, and he was working hard to get there.

Then last year, while home on break, he was out drinking with some of his old football friends. I guess these friends had never gone to college, and were just bumming around still, partying —acting like older versions of their high school selves. He’d moved on while they stayed behind, but he was a good friend, back in town. And as drunken boys are prone to do, they got in a fight. And though by all accounts Hank never swung once, he was charged with and convicted of accessory after the fact: Emery died, having been in a coma because of injuries he suffered that night.

I knew them all, those five boys charged with causing Emery’s death. My physiology partner, Mr. Quarterback, the one who was too gentle to willingly dissect a cat, was not the one I knew longest. But I feel that he was the one I knew best. It breaks my heart that his life will never be the same. He will never be the same.

And in a very real way, neither will I. It’s so easy for strangers to judge him, so easy for strangers to hate him because his friends’ foolish actions robbed the world of a beautiful and talented young man.

It’s easy for strangers to judge, and difficult for them to feel compassion for a boy caught up in a violent, senseless crime. But it breaks my heart, because I saw more of him than many ever will. And I know that he is no monster. He was, and I hope still is, my friend.

I never got to say this to you, Hank, even though you wrote it in my yearbook—you were always more generous with your honesty than I—but here it is now, may it offer you some comfort, should you ever read this, should you ever know…I miss you. You had a lot going for you, and it breaks my heart to see that some doors will forever be closed to you now. But you’re strong, and honest, and you work hard. And whatever doors they close on you, they were never meant for you anyway. I wish you all the best, always, in all things.

Your science buddy,

Miya

This entry was posted on Thursday, November 27th, 2008 at 8:49 pm and is filed under Opinion. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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