One of the seniors passed by me during lunch, “I’ll see you during Major Religions today… oh wait, no, I won’t!”
“Nice one, cripple,” I replied, in reference to his crutches.
His rebuttal involved sticking up his two middle fingers. Touché.
And that’s probably the last time I’ll ever see him. Okay, so, I’ll be at graduation, but in the pit, and only able to hear the names.
It’s just an odd way to say good-bye — somewhere in there, there’s an acknowledgement that it’s good-bye, and yet, it still gives a sense that there is no good-bye.
Just someone I sat next to during Major Religions. I remember interviewing him (and a lot of other people I don’t remember) last year for my Christology assignment. He was “hamburger man” or “hamburger guy” because he was eating one during the interview.
People pop in and out of life. I’m used to it. Not that anyone’s died on me, but if I never see them again, there’s no real difference.
I don’t know. There should be some point I’m trying to make here about the one random memory or good-bye, maybe something about how in a year, most of the people I know I’ll never see again. But I can’t think of a point. I can’t really explain any feeling. It’s just a moment I had.
All I can think of is that that moment will stick in my head. The hamburger interview will stick in my head. Oh yeah, and that time he said he liked the way the lights reflected off Mr. Steeb’s forehead.