So it goes

When I was a junior in high school, I met a guy named Evan. I knew him through Speech and Debate and theatre activities, which by their time-consuming nature allowed us to become close enough to begin dating. He was my first serious-ish boyfriend, so naturally I'd spend a lot of time at his house, especially since he lived so near the school and we'd hang out there after the aforementioned extracurriculars. We were both smart kids and enjoyed reading (especially Kurt Vonnegut) and writing (mostly existential essays for class that attempted to imitate prestigous literature that I was too young and too academically overcommitted to understand).

I didn't meet his mother right away. She was always gone, or sleeping or something, when I happened to be over initially. He always seemed a little anxious whenever she came up in conversation. His dad was cordial and awkwardly polite, allowing Evan a surprising amount of freedom and space. They had five dogs and a number of cats that I was never allowed to reveal. At one point I was able to name them all. His dad couldn't stand them, and Evan tolerated them good-naturedly.

I'm not sure how I first met her, but from all the time I spent over there, it was inevitable. She was slight and kind, with eyes like Evan's: green and feline-sleek. Their noses were similar as well, and both their smiles were thin-lipped and came up higher on one side than the other. Hers was a quick surprise when it appeared. His was more ready and often; he shared a cautious, haunted expression with his dad.

She used to be a teacher, and liked to talk to us, even though she also was quick to give us our space when she felt that it was time for us to be alone. She'd taught both special-needs kids and gifted kids before she retired, and she told me stories of when Evan was small and she recognized his potential from his problem-solving skills, such as when he wanted to play at the sink with the water faucet ("I didn't get it, either," she'd giggled) and what he chose to stand on and how he got it to the sink without her help. She wanted to see how he did it on his own.

He was applying to colleges when we dated, and she would read his essays and critique them. Again, I'm not sure how she got on to reading the stories and essays I'd write for my AP Language class; maybe I asked for her opinion, I don't know. She always liked reading what I wrote, encouraged me earnestly, and once asked me to write a story for her. "OK, what about?" I asked.

She needed a day to think. I came by after school another day and she told me, "I want you to write me a story about God, the universe, and cats." So I did. I spent weeks on it, used profanity in a manuscript for the first time, and it may have stretched over twenty pages. When I finished, I came over not to see Evan but to see her (he was actually out of town at the time). She loved it, and after she read it we ended up talking for over four hours. We came close to ordering pizza for dinner except my mom called me home.

There was a reason for his reluctance to talk about her, perhaps even for the haunted look. Early in our relationship, we walked into his house, only to find it in shambles. There were few family photos because she destroyed them in a fire one day. All the pets were hers. Twice she had to go to treatment facilities for manic depression.

She also sent me funny emails during the school day, made sure we had plenty of snacks, gave us movie recommendations, and took roll after roll of pictures when Evan and I went to Prom. I'd just learned how to make gum-wrapper chains, so out of the blue one day she gave me a basket full of three diffrerent kinds of Wrigley's. Evan told me she'd been excited about that all day. Once I called, asking for him, and when he wasn't there we started talking about books, and she read to me a chapter from Me Talk Pretty One Day. When I found it just as comical, she ended up getting it for me for my birthday along with two cards. Hers were the best cards. I still have them all. She was always kind to me, and I never saw her in her bad moments.

Evan went away to school, and soon she ended up divorcing his dad and moving to California. I never really talked to her or heard from her after that, but when I'd meet up with Evan and ask about her, he told me that she would ask about me and that she still had a few of my old high school photos.

I heard from him today for the first time in about a year. He told me that she'd died in August. Right about the time I was bitching about moving and routinely drenching my liver in Captain Morgan. I remembered her from time to time, wondering how she was. If I knew how to get in touch with her, I doubt it would have been any bit awkward.

She still had a few old pictures of me among her things.