It's Been 14 Years

It’s been 14 years since then.

They say you will die twice. First when you stop breathing. The second, when somebody mentions your name for the last time.

I haven’t heard your name in a decade.

While your socials are long gone, your email still works. I tried emailing you every year on your birthday since then. I’d ask you how you’re doing, and tell you what’s been up with me since then.

I was able to remember for the first few years. But I’ve forgotten your birthday now. When was it again? February? April? October? Can’t remember, sorry.

You were 14 when you passed away. A freshman in high school. You would be 28 now, just like me.

Our problems back then seem so insignificant now. Our angst was so juvenile. Our dreams naïve. Our humor so cringe. Yet we thought we knew everything about the world. How pointless everything is. And how much it sucked.

But hindsight is 20/20. Because despite all the crap life threw at me since then, I still consider high school as the worst time of my entire life. We just didn’t know it at the time because we were living in it.

I’ve blocked out most of those four years out of my mind. But the memories I do keep around, most of them are with you.

You were right in some ways. The SATs don’t matter anymore. Nobody cares about the grades we got high school. You were perfectly fine with Cs. I couldn’t stand my parents yelling at me for a B. And yeah, none of us ever used calculus in real life.

Our friend group drifted apart after high school. Terrance and Jenna got together in college, just like you said would happen eventually. Last I heard, they both landed cushy programming jobs in Silicon Valley and moved into a tiny apartment for ridiculous sum of money.

I went to a liberal arts college across the country. I got my useless degree in film and now I work a 9 to 5 in marketing. The most exciting thing I did last week was go to that fancy top-floor gastropub with my coworkers and put the tab on the company card. The boss was chill about it; he’ll write it off as a business expense.

Lexi popped up in my feed recently. She seems happy with her husband, travelling to Bordeaux and posting about a different bottle of wine every day. She became the “boring adult” that we hated so much back then.

We all became boring adults. Are you disappointed?

I wonder what kind of boring adult life you would’ve led. Would you have gone to med school? Engineering? Or become the best-selling author you always dreamed of? I think you would have been successful no matter what you did, despite your terrible grades.

I can’t imagine how much a grown-up you would’ve changed. Or not changed. I can only vaguely remember you as you were back then.

What would you look like now? What would you be wearing now? Who would have you married? A sweetheart from university? A nice coworker like Lexi? Or maybe even a Hollywood celebrity.

Or maybe, me.

All of it is equally possible now. All with a zero percent chance.

But life goes on. It doesn’t stop at high school. It does get better, despite what we thought back then. We have to keep living. I have to keep living. For you.

I’m sorry I forgot about you. To make up for it, I’ll recite your name three times so I won’t forget again.

Isabelle.
Isabelle.
Isabelle.

...

It’s been 14 months since then.

We’ve mostly adapted to the new normal as sophomores.

Terrance, Jenna, Lexi and I still hang out sometimes. But not as much as before. It was like we only hang out to copy each other’s homework during lunch, now. Some things were still the same, though: Terrance and Jenna arguing about dumb anime stuff as usual. Lexi sharing the latest spot to eat at. Me being present, responding to the colorful conversations.

We were just missing your weird sense of humor.

Obviously.

I didn’t know how much of a glue you were to our group until now. That you were the one who kept us together. I could feel us slowly drifting apart without your presence.

I liked your laugh. I liked your smile. I liked it when we talked nonsense every day.

I thought it was obvious when we hung out together. But maybe I should have said it to you more often.

You probably wanted to be forgotten. That’s too bad. I won’t forget you.

I promise.