When we were Wallflowers

Often it is said that before you die, your life flashes before your eyes. That may be true; I hope it will be the case when I go. But I often see moments of my life every time I close my eyes to sleep. Some of the best memories of my 32 years pass by, the births of my 2 wonderful children, my wedding day, but most often I think of my time with Emory. She was my best friend all of high school; she was the one who broke me out of my shell, who made me see the world beyond the confines of my own fears and doubts. She would call me "Wallflower," a nickname that stuck seemingly forever, not just because it was a playful jab, but because it was true. I was a shy kid, always on the periphery, until she came along.

Emory was hard to miss; when her family first moved to town, they drove up the street in their bright blue Volkswagen bus blasting loud folk music, so loud that I could hear it in my house a whole street over. Her parents stood out in our small mountain town; they only moved so they could connect with the spirit of Mother Nature, or as Emory called it, their inner freak. I didn’t officially meet her until the next day at school. She was dressed more colorfully than anyone else in the building; she had on a tie-dye shirt matching her pink glitter shoes, her black hair highlighted with light blue. She introduced herself to everyone in homeroom before taking a seat next to me. Little did I know that having the only empty seat in class next to me would change who I am forever. 

Emory would eventually become the spark that ignited my social life. She started talking to me almost immediately. I was hesitant at first; people often didn’t talk to me, nor did I attempt to talk to others. I enjoyed being in my own world most of the time. I was lonely, yes, but I wasn’t necessarily unhappy. But when Emory spoke to me, something in me wanted to actually engage with her. 

Soon she and I became inseparable; she would sit with me at lunch, and after school we would walk home together. Once high school rolled around, things were dialed up to another level. She would drag me to all the school dances, to football games, and to parties. I never really wanted to go to these events, but she had this infectious energy that made me want to be around her. She was the kind of friend who made you feel seen, who made you feel like you were the only person in the room. Everyone around thought I was in love with her, and for a while I thought that I was too, but as we grew closer, I began to realize that my feelings for her weren't romantic; they were something deeper, something platonic yet profound. She was my soulmate, my confidante, my everything.

I don’t know if I would’ve made it through high school without Emory. She provided a safe place for me to share all the painful thoughts in my head. I didn’t have many friends outside of her, just people that I was friendly with. She was popular; people liked her. She had tons of boyfriends, all of whom hated me. I only ever had one girlfriend, and when she broke my heart, Emory was there to put it back together again. When prom rolled around our junior year, it was a no-brainer that we would go together. The dance itself was nothing special, but being able to sit on the balcony of the museum and laugh at how stupid our peers looked will always bring a smile to my face when I look back. Going into our senior year, the futures we had dreamt of seemed so close; we’d finally get out of our small town; we’d planned to move to New York, she was going to be a lawyer, and I an author. 

But life had other plans. Before school started, Emory's family had decided to move away to North Carolina. I was devastated; I was losing the only person in my life who seemed to care about me. Emory and I spent the entire summer together, enjoying every moment we had together. She left in early August. She was dead by April. 

That never really sank in for me; even now I still don’t always believe it. I’ll never forget that morning. I came down the stairs for breakfast, and my mom gave me a hug and told me the news. I remember not moving, then immediately going for the phone to try and call her. My mom stopped me, but I still tried. I screamed and cried right there in my kitchen. My heart felt it was ripped out of my chest, and there was now a void that would never be filled.

My mom let me fly to North Carolina for the funeral; it was my first time leaving Colorado. When she had moved, we had been planning a way for me to visit her over the summer; instead, it was spring. Seeing her body in that casket, was jarring; I had never experienced death before, and to see her face unmoving, not smiling or laughing, broke me. I wanted to scream. I wanted to shake her to wake her up. I wanted her to sit up and punch me in the arm and say it was just a joke. But nothing happened. Just tears.

It was hard for me to deal with the fact that she was gone; at school, all anyone could talk about was how she died, never to me, but I could hear the hushed voices as I walked past. It made me angry; we all knew Emory for the amazing person she was, the light that she brought to every room she was in, the nice things she did for everyone, and all anyone could talk about was one moment in her life, letting the lowest point in her life define her. 

Looking back, I realize that Emory did more for me than I ever did for her. She helped me build confidence and taught me to embrace life's uncertainties. But in return, I feel like I failed her. I didn't see the depth of her struggles and didn't realize how much she was fighting against her own darkness.

I remember the nights we would sit on the hood of her car, watching the stars, talking about everything and nothing. She would share stories about her home life, and about the demons she faced, and I listened, but I was too caught up in my own problems to truly be able to help her. I wish I could go back, tell her how much she meant to me, and let her know that I was someone she could rely on; I wish I could have been there for her the way she was for me.

Today, I'm in a good place. I've built a life I'm proud of, but there's a part of me that wishes Emory could see it. I wish she could know that her efforts weren't in vain and that I'm living the life she helped me find the courage to pursue. I wish she could see the man I've become, the man she helped shape.

I’ll often look out at the Hudson River and feel a sense of peace wash over me. I know that Emory may not be here physically, but she'll always be with me; her spirit lives on in me. She taught me to be brave, to face my fears, and to never give up. I’ll always value the time I had with Emory; we were two souls who found each other in a crowded world. And even though she's gone, her memory stays with me, reminding me of the power of friendship and the impact one person can have on another's life.