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"Jen--
I've never signed a yearbook with writing this small before, but hey--shit happens. Hi Jen! I've known you forever--since nursery school (Wheaton) and maybe even befoer, but for some reason until Pascal we hadn't been in any classes together since Jr. High, had we? Very unfair. I'm glad we still talk after all this time. Yuck! Let's not get all mushy and sentimental now. I still remember in Jr. High when Greg used to chase you around and call you Ghost. Do you? Sure you do! How about when we tried to play D&D a couple of times? That never worked out, did it? Oops--no more room. Have a great summer and good luck next year. Bye!
love,
Mike."
Mike and I did indeed meet in preschool. My mom remembers him as an incredibly precise child, always using the correct terminology for everything. "Mr McGee, may I be excused? I have to urinate."
We weren't Friend friends, exactly, but we operated on the edge of each other's social circles until eighth grade. That was the year I spent with Mike, Eric, Scott (yes, HSBF Scott) and Greg. I can't think about anything in that year without images of Mike coming to mind.
We stayed friends through high school, but again not in a hang out, see eachother except in the halls, talk about our lives kind of way. I don't know that I've seen him since we graduated. But I've thought about him a surprising amount--when Idrive past his old house on Carla's parents' street, or when I hear old U2 songs (he was the person who first played October for me--on vinyl-- a million years ago). He's been on my "what ever happened to these people" list for a long time.
Now I know.
Carla, who was friendly with his younger brother, emailed me this morning to tell me that Mike committed suicide at his home in Japan. They're having a memorial service for him in our hometown. You can be sure I'll be there.
I've missed you, Mike. Sorry you'll never know that.
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