The End of the Alphabet

Today is the second anniversary of my friend Jeff's passing. I have been thinking about the few weeks leading up to that day. The woman down the street from where he lived brought a steady supply of home baked goods to sustain us. There was so much love in the house. 

I also thought about that book we were going to write together, whether Jeff liked it or not. I worked on the introduction a few years ago, and thought maybe I should look at it again. I also thought maybe I could at least pretend I was going to write some more, but Jeff was going to make my story better and I am still not quite sure how to do that without him. Here is the beginning...where most stories start...

Remember as a kid, when so much of one’s social circle depended on a name, more specifically, last names. They were the standard way to provide order to an assigned seating chart, and in our high school, homerooms were even broken down this way. People brought together as friends in an alphabetical sense, sometimes with the hope of having something more flourish (or the despair of knowing there was no escape from the like-lettered hooligans). My maiden name started with the letter U...think less”unique” and more “uh, how do you pronounce that”? Truth be told, I miss that jumble of vowels. After twenty-two years, I have yet to fully embrace my being as a C - so average. Maybe the V and Y folk still begin each morning in exceptional  ways. If only there was a way for me to check in.

Facebook. Love it, hate it, pretend it doesn’t exist, but there it is connecting people who may have gone decades without contact. The expectations for developing a Facebook relationship are pretty low - “like” a few posts, leave an encouraging emoji of some sort where appropriate, and pay attention to whatever is interesting. Eventually things can be taken to the next level with actual words as comments on posts, or maybe something bold like a private message. I remember Jeff’s friend request coming, and how I could picture his hair and smile from the 1980’s as I accepted. Simple as that, we were friends, but I never could have imagined where that was going to lead us.

Jeff’s Facebook status was, and still is, a space filled with wit and humor, with an occasional sprinkle of Hello Kitty adoration. I looked forward to reading whatever he had to say, and couldn’t help but wonder what a real life conversation might be like nearly thirty years after graduating together. I did not recall ever being particularly friendly to Jeff during those early homeroom gatherings, not for any personal reasons. (But oh my gosh, did he ever hear me call him “Snooty Venuti”? Clearly I did not come up with that one on my own.) I was an equal opportunity grump. In other words, meeting me for a cup of coffee did not seem like it would be an invite with high appeal. However, when my daughter said she was done with her Hello Kitty boombox, I realized I might have something more enticing to offer.

We met up at a park, and after exactly zero seconds of awkwardness, we went for a walk in the brisk morning air. The conversation was lively and all over the place from what I recall - past, present, this person, that person, including the hilarious revelation that we both had a crush on the same guy back in homeroom. Thanks to alphabetical order, we both got to gaze at V each morning. Jeff bragged that he got to feel the guy’s arm muscle every day as he graced us with his weightlifting prowess. My retort was that I had kissed him...on more than one occasion. Truce. Jeff’s version of what our little cluster of desks in the grand homeroom scheme seemed much more endearing than my memory had led me to believe despite both scenarios being accurate. We each played a role not unlike the cast of any other teen comedy. I found myself able to own my somewhat surly character who I thought only family members had to put up with lovingly. If Jeff could forgive that girl, maybe it was high time I did the same. He met me where I was in life that day, not where I had been in 1987.