Eight years ago today, I came home from work to find my mother crying. She told me my friend Billy had killed himself.

I was not always the carefree, light-hearted, ready-for-fun girl you know today. I was quite the serious, shy, quiet child. Billy started to change that. I met Billy in band. I had been the only bassoon for a year and a half, and I liked my "only-one" status. When I heard at the end of sophomore year that there was an eighth-grader who was coming up next year, who played the bassoon, I was a little jealous. I wasn't going to be the only one anymore. But once I met Billy, I completely forgot all that. He was sweet, hilarious and we were close friends. We would constantly whisper in band, and Mr. Wyatt was always yelling at us to be quiet or pay attention. It was a joke to us. We would hang out on the stairs after lunch with Chris and Rob and the others and just talk and laugh. I taught him how to drive stick shift on my little Rabbit and he gave me my first cigarette. Billy taught me that having fun was taking risks and doing new things. I didn't have to be a 'good girl' all the time. I asked him to junior prom that year, but somehow Tina had gotten to him first. I never got another chance.

Billy moved to Tennessee, and I think he was incredibly lonely. All I ever heard from him was how much he wanted to come back. That's why, I think. He never left a note, so I'll never know for sure. I know the true meaning of lonely, so it doesn't take a huge stretch of the imagination to understand, but it was hard to forgive him. He brought so much joy to so many people, he was just the kind of person who made you want to confide in him, and he was wise beyond his years in every way but one.


I miss you, Billy...