I don’t know why I keep writing these down, like they’ll somehow make it feel like you’re still here. Maybe it’s just a way to hear your voice in my head again, your laugh filling these quiet rooms. God, it’s hard. But here’s another one, one of those memories that I thought I’d forgotten.
Travis had called me up that day, trying to hide his laughter, saying, “Isiah, you’re not gonna believe what Hadassah did.” He’d just left her parent-teacher conference, and apparently her art teacher was horrified. The poor woman couldn’t believe her eyes when Hadassah handed in her latest Halloween project: a haunted house drawing, all dark with wavy lines and spooky shapes. Looked innocent enough, until she turned it over and saw “fuck you” written in big, bold letters on the back.
By the time I got to the school, Travis was barely holding it together, and the art teacher was still flustered. She handed me the drawing like it was evidence in a criminal investigation. And as soon as I saw it, I couldn’t hold back. You would’ve laughed, too. There we were, Travis and I, both cracking up in the middle of the hallway, while the poor teacher stood there, horrified.
I still have that drawing somewhere, stuffed away in a drawer, as if that little piece of paper holds all of her wild, fearless spirit. I could almost hear your laugh in that moment, the way you’d have thrown your head back and said, “She’s got a way with words.”
I miss you, man.
-Isiah