I kept the poem you wrote the year we met. It’s in my notebook, the page yellowed, still creased from the way you folded it and stuck it in my history book.

I remember the first time I saw you, dressed in a white polo and white jeans, talking to a girl I didn’t like. I thought your clothes were stupid, even when mine were soaked by the cloudburst while I waited for the bus.

I remember sitting next to you in class, because your last name followed mine. And I remember how someone told me you were going to be someone I didn’t like.

I remember spending all semester getting yelled at by the teacher because we wouldn’t stop talking. How we never stopped finding things we had in common.

I remember that day in class, when you told me your mom was gay, and the look on your face when you realized I didn’t care. I remember that was the day you became my friend.

I remember laughing at your ROTC uniform, the horrible cucumber green number you wore every Wednesday for four years.  I knew you had hopes to be in the military after school.

I remember when I told you I loved you...

I remember when one of our friends was killed, and our reactions. I remember it was one of the rare moments when our personalities differed. I couldn’t cry, but you could.

I remember when another friend was kidnapped by her mother. I was worried, having spent my own time dealing with mental instability. I remember you just laughed and said she’d be okay.

I remember when she came back, she wasn’t...

I remember you using my house as a place to see one of your girlfriends. I knew your mother didn’t like her, but she liked me. She didn’t know the girl lived four houses down.

I remember that fall when you told me you slept with one of our friends. You couldn’t understand why I thought you were an idiot. I asked you why, and you said it was because you felt like it. I wondered if you realized how much your carelessness was going to hurt her.

I remember wondering if you would ever regret that moment...

I remember spring break, and getting caught stealing. I remember being terrified of my parents, and ashamed I’d ruined your mother’s opinion of me. I remember it was my fault, and I got you in trouble too.

I remember that summer, you and your new girlfriend staying at my house. You told me that was the first night you had sex. I remember eventually telling you not to come over anymore, that my house was not a brothel.

I remember when you stopped coming over...

I remember when my life fell apart. When my mother almost killed herself, and left me with two small siblings and a father who had to work all the time. I remember I had no one to talk to.

I remember when I had to grow up. I had to take care of my family, had to find time between home and work to study. I remember still acing advanced classes despite my home life. I remember you took the easy way out, that’s why we didn’t have class together anymore.

I remember when I moved out of my house, because I couldn’t bear the fact my parents were getting back together. I remember for the first time in months, I had a life. I remember not knowing what to do with that knowledge.

I remember you weren’t there for me...

I remember you telling your mother you were taking me to prom. I remember not even planning to go until one of my friends begged me. I remember getting a ride to prom from my aunt. I took my prom photo with you while your girlfriend watched, because you promised. I rode home with my cousin.

I remember the day yearbooks came out. I remember you kept taking it away from me. You wanted to write me something special. I remember you never finished writing down what you had to say.

I remember you inviting me to your graduation party. You were leaving in a month for boot camp. I remember your mom asking me why I wasn’t having a party myself. I lied and told her I didn’t want one. I never told anyone but you that no one cared enough to give me a party. I remember you telling me that we could share your party.

I remember spending most of that day by myself. I gave you my address, so you could write me while you were away at boot camp. You had my number, so you could call.

I remember you never wrote me...

I remember hearing about the letters you wrote to one of our friends. You called once, telling me all about jumping out of airplanes and your upcoming wedding. I remember you telling me you would call the next night.

I remember you never called...

I put your poem in my notebook. I went off to college. I began to make amends with my family. I had another close person die on me, of a drug overdose. I moved back home.

I heard you and that girlfriend from high school didn’t work out. I heard she cheated on you.

I saw your mom in Walmart one day, and she told me about you. How you went to fight in Iraq, in Afghanistan. She told me about your wife, and the baby. She said you were moving home and not reenlisting. She told me to visit.

I moved out of state. Started a new life, somewhere I wouldn’t see familiar faces every time I went to the grocery store, the gas station, the mall.

I saw your poem today. I was flipping through my old notebook and saw the creased paper. I read it again, and remembered.

I remembered you saying we were two halves of a whole, and would always be together.

I remembered you were always the carefree, careless half, while I always worried about what I was doing, what others thought of me. I remembered sometimes wondering what the hell you were doing, and playing your conscience and confidante. I remembered being treated like one of the guys.

I remembered when you told me you loved me...

I remembered when you betrayed me...

I remembered realizing you had lied...

I read your poem again, fumbling through the illegible script, and wonder...

I wonder if I knew you at all.