Oil & Water

In 2008, 36 students graduated from Bridgeport High School. That year, the graduating class included Valedictorian Lynette Smith III and Peter Williams. Lynette’s speech that day was the culmination of years of hard work. As she stood at the worn wooden podium, her voice booming across the auditorium, Lynette detailed countless nights spent studying and the sacrifices that led to that moment. Somewhere in the same packed auditorium on an uncomfortable plastic chair, Peter smiled, scrawling her name on the corner of his commencement program.

From a very early age, Lynette realized that Peter was not the type of student that valued the educational part of school. For years, she had watched Peter goof off in class and rally other students to follow suit. From first grade, his name was a consistent refrain on the lips of teachers. So, when Ms. Hazel directed Lynette to Peter’s table on the first day of fifth grade, Lynette protested.

“Ms. Hazel,” Lynette whined. “Don’t you think it would be more conducive to my studies to sit at another table?” Lynette motioned towards another table before flailing her tiny fingers towards any other table in the classroom. She looked again at Ms. Hazel, her eyes pleading.  Ms. Hazel peered at Peter, his eyes fixed squarely at his feet and his face flushed.  Peter understood that Lynette did not want to sit with him. He shouldn’t have cared, but he did.

“Lynette,” Ms. Hazel replied sympathetically. “While I understand your reservations, I think there’s a lot you can learn at that table.” With that, Ms. Hazel turned towards the other students, signaling that the conversation was over. Lynette let out a defeated sigh before making her way to Peter’s table.

In many ways, they were an unlikely pair. Lynette spent classes dutifully taking notes while Peter, lost in his own thoughts, doodled purposefully in the margins of their shared textbook. While initially irritated by Peter’s flagrant disregard for school property, Lynette came to see this as one of Peter’s endearing quirks. 

Over time, their friendship grew and so did Lynette’s proclivity to help. After she finished her own homework, she diligently filled the gaps in his homework.  He often busied himself with other more pressing matters: crafting the perfect spitball targeted at the back of Ms. Hazel’s head. Lynette did not approve, but his mischievous nature perfectly counterbalanced her own rigidity when it came to the rules.  Also, for Lynette, this was payback for Ms. Hazel’s decision to place her at this table. But, over time, Lynette no longer minded sharing a table with Peter.

Years later, in seventh grade, Lynette would once again be partnered with Peter. This time, Lynette would not object. They would dissect a frog together in biology class. Actually, Peter would gleefully dissect a frog while Lynette would copiously document the process. They understood their roles in this academic dance, and Peter was always thankful for Lynette’s support. Over the years, he had come to rely on her.

In ninth grade, the academic stakes would evolve, and Peter could no longer just hope for the best. So, Lynette would serve as his quasi-tutor, drilling algebraic equations and Spanish verb conjugations for hours until Peter could recite both perfectly. On one of these days, as Peter was reciting conjugations, his eyes closed and eyebrows furled in concentration, Lynette was struck by how much he had changed over the years. He was no longer the sheepish fifth-grade boy doodling in the margins of their shared history book. He was taller now, towering above her and his voice now had a deep timber, accentuated somehow by the sharpness of his jaw.  

“Is it llamamos or llaman or something else?” Peter turned to Lynette, both hands in the air in playful annoyance. Lynette giggled and rolled her eyes.  She was used to his theatrics.

“We drilled this Peter,” she exclaimed.

“You use llamamos for nosotros and llaman for ellos, ellas, and ustedes,” she explained while motioning towards the makeshift whiteboard at Patti’s, Bridgeport’s one and only coffee shop.

“I’ll leave you to practice some more while I grab some snacks,” she replied sarcastically. 

Peter watched her as she walked towards the barista. In that moment, he realized how far they’d come as friends. She only feigned annoyance with him now. 

“Back to work, Peter!” She exclaimed playfully. As she walked past him, throwing him a homemade chocolate chip cookie. Peter couldn’t help but notice the way Lynette’s brown curls delicately framed her face.

This was their rhythm throughout the rest of high school. While they were part of different social circles, their friendship endured. Lynette couldn’t remember when things changed. But, at some point, her heart began to beat more quickly in his presence. She parsed every word he spoke, trying to determine if things had changed for him too. 

There were moments when she was brave.

Two days before graduation, Lynette and Peter sat in the bleachers, staring out into the expansive field. Lynette had accepted a place at a college out of state, and Peter would remain nearby at a college in Bridgeport.

Lynette turned to Peter who was nestled in his own thoughts as he took in the evening. Peter was an unapologetic dreamer, and these moments reminded Lynette why she had been drawn to him all those years ago. 

“Can I ask you something?” Lynette probed cautiously. Peter turned to her, his eyes filled with curiosity and concern.

“Is everything okay?” Peter asked. Lynette knew that this would likely be the only time she could ask the question that had weighed on her for years. She hesitated.

“Tell me about your daydreams,” Lynette offered feebly, turning her gaze to the stars above. Peter was unconvinced, but indulged Lynette anyway. He linked his arm with hers as he spoke, a habit he had become fond of over the years. Yet, this time, he couldn’t help but notice that her body stiffened in response.

Over the years, Lynette and Peter lost touch. She heard from her parents that he stayed in Bridgeport and that he started a business, something related to graphic design. Lynette smiled, proud that Peter was finally making a living on those fifth-grade doodles.

Years later, their paths would cross again in Bridgeport.

Bridgeport was hosting a Festival to celebrate 100 years of existence, and Lynette’s family had summoned her home. It was 2020, and after years away from Bridgeport, it was odd for Lynette to be back. In many ways, she felt like she had outgrown Bridgeport. Before the festivities of the evening, Lynette headed to Patti’s: nostalgia had gotten the best of her.

When she entered Patti’s, she didn’t recognize him at first. Peter was sitting at their regular table, his gaze fixed on the people milling about on the main street. His brown curly hair was now highlighted with streaks of white. 

Peter must have felt Lynette’s gaze upon her, because he turned towards her and smiled.  Lynette approached him, happy to see a friendly face all these years later. He stood to greet her, and she launched into a hug. She noticed that he didn’t hug her back. She backed away sheepishly, wondering if this greeting was appropriate all these years later.

“I’m sorry Peter. I was just so excited to see you. This might be forward, but could we maybe grab dinner after the Festival? I would love to catch up.” Lynette waited for Peter’s response, but instead was met by Peter’s confusion. Lynette was crushed. He didn’t remember her.

As they stood there awkwardly, a young woman entered Patti’s. 

“Peter, did you meet a new friend?” She asked, motioning towards Lynette. 

“She knew my name,” Peter said, still nursing his own confusion.

“Why don’t you grab a snack, and then we can get going,” the young woman responded. Peter walked away, turning his back towards Lynette, the confusion still palpable on his face.

“I’m Peter’s nurse. He lost his memory a couple of years ago,” the woman explained. “He loves Patti’s, and I usually bring him here a couple of times a week to help him remember. It’s been a tough few years for him.”

“How do you know Peter?” she asked.

“We used to be friends,” Lynette responded sadly.