Rewind to years before: when we wore our matching curdoroys; do you remember that? What about your Cabbage Patch doll and my Construction Set? You wrote plays about witches and I made sorcerer’s hats out of corrugated boxes. I came upon an old notebook you used to have, a little childish slumbook, dated 1986. The question was “Who is your best friend” and I wrote “You”. Time really does fly: now you’re almost a doctor and I’m still drawing pictures. You’re still solving problems methodically and I’m still dreaming of impossible solutions. It doesn’t bother me that you were always better at piano than I was. Or the fact that you whistle better than I do. People say you’re too serious but to me you’re the funnest person I know : no one knows how to sing the “Disco Blanket” song like you do. Even though you’ve got your Richard and hospital wards, your whole life planned and accounted for, to me we’re still wearing identical shirts on Sunday mornings, you still have a lot of powder carelessly tossed all over your 8-year-old face, and you’ll always be the person who walked all the way from the Psych building to my Fine Arts building to have lunch with me when I called your cellphone to say I was feeling blue.
