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Dear Friend,

Our freshman year, the first day of classes, 8:00 A.M. It was a math class, and I’m the worst at math. I walked in just before everything started, and there were so many empty chairs, but I guess I noticed the one beside you first. Actually, that’s probably untrue; everything was such a blur that I don’t know what I saw first. I just remember you were the brightest thing there. In my mind, I made up a whole scenario about how you had strange hobbies – Magic: the Gathering, maybe – and I didn’t mean it in a harsh way, honest. I think I just wanted to be near you and I needed to make you more approachable. I’m sorry for that. Do you remember the competitions we used to have? Whenever we got our exams back, we would compare the red marks, and whoever had less would win. You won more often than I did, and I was okay with that. That’s how I knew I liked you: I wanted you to win, even if I tried my best. After class, we would stand outside and talk for what seemed like a long time. It seemed longer because I was always so nervous that I would say the wrong thing, so I hardly said anything at all, and instead I listened to the stories surrounding your life, about how you were from a military family so you were born in Japan, had a green car, which you wanted ever since you started high school, your plans of Spanish studies (me too!), how you were fascinated with Kinsey’s research. Maybe I learned that one later, from a friend of a friend. I remembered everything for the longest time. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I liked you, really liked you, from the start. And if I knew that the next time I would talk – really talk – to you would be in that serendipitous coffee shop four years later (you, the calm, confident graduate student offering life advice to me, the shy, forlorn, perpetual child who never figured things out in time) – then maybe I would have told you that sooner.

Love always,

Dallas