JBE

You died in 1996.

I think.

It bothers me that I can't remember.

Your friend

I can't remember his name

came to class crying

but 22 years later I remember his face twisted worn out done wet

and I was angry at you for making him hurt.

I am still angry.

I cried, too.

I hid my face because we weren't close, you and I. I didn't have the right to grieve.

But I could be angry.

Now I wonder who you would have been in a different time.

Would you have taken more with you?

Not you.

You loved your grandmother.

You played the guitar.

Would you have a YouTube channel?

You asked me out once.

I thought you were kidding

that it was a dare or a joke

Maybe it was.

You dyed your hair.

You died.

You had blue eyes, dark hair, fifteen years.

"You don't shave your legs," you said to me in art class, and I was angry.

I'm still

so angry.