My Best Friend, Michael

It was fall and the leaves just started turning colors. It was a Friday morning and my alarm, regrettably, started honking at 7:30 a.m. I must have hit snooze at least six times until the inevitable eight part knock confronted the outside of my door. I drug myself out of bed, while yelling, “Holdddd onnnnn!” at the loudest volume I could mustard up for that hour of the morning.

A pair of black sweatpants, flip flops, and one red hooded sweatshirt later, I swung my dorm room door open to find him wearing those same brown sandals, dark skinny jeans, and that snug maroon waffle knit shirt I had become accustomed to. He had a heavy, yet friendly, knock I could finally recognize after three years. He greeted me with that smile that always assured you things would work out, even when you thought otherwise. If anything, that smile was genuine and will probably fix many hearts in the future.

He wasn’t impatient or irritated in having to wait for my beautifying session to finally conclude, as many men would not have the patience to wait around. He called it “spending quality time”. These days, quality time seemed to be at the top of his list. He embraced me with those muscular arms that wouldn’t harm a fly, but always made me feel safe and protected. His tight squeeze woke me up instantly and prepared me for our inevitable brisk walk to our Marketing class.

Every word he spoke was confident and his tone made you embrace his every syllable. As we talked about the essay due that morning, his eyes rarely strayed away from mine. He was the king of eye contact. Sometimes, I thought he saw my thoughts in my eyes before I even said them out loud. I can’t say that didn’t make me nervous at times. He was my best friend, who wasn’t much for conversation, but when he spoke, people listened.

He wore his heart on his sleeve and spoke louder through his actions than through any of his words. Behind that tough and poised attitude, he was vulnerable and a little broken. I knew him inside and out, probably more than he would have liked. He kept a secret I saw glimpses of, every now and then. He missed her soft, motherly touch and her voice that just made his whole world right. I could spot that longing gaze upon this face a mile away. I can only imagine the way his heart ached when thinking about his life without her.

After this past summer, he hugged tighter, laughed more often, and cherished life at a higher level. We never talked about his secret, but rather, only talked about all of mine. That’s what’s great about best friends, I guess. You don’t have to talk about it for it to be real or understood.