I had the unfortunate experience yesterday of visiting the funeral home for the viewing of a girl I'd known in high school. Liz Loeffler was a really decent person, a very sweet girl who didn't deserve to die as young as she did. That's the nature of Cystic Fibrosis, though. The whole thing was pretty upsetting, although I hadn't known her as well as most of the people who were there had and subsequently I felt a bit of a hypocrite when I began to cry, especially since her mother and brother were both dry-eyed. There were dozens upon dozens of pictures of her, set up on posterboard and framed all around the room. She smiled in each one--she was so pale, with dark dark hair and bright blue eyes....

I never heard the girl utter anything disparaging (at least, not about her peers. She had the same grouses about Mr. Martin that everyone else did, and not without justification). She rarely gossiped, she was almost always upbeat.

One photograph was of her freshman or sophomore year Homecoming. Standing next to her was The Navy Boy, Captain America. The man I have been in love with, probably since I met him. He was never that cool--at least, not to me. He had lots of friends in his class, though (they were a tight-knit bunch, anyway). But we carpooled together for 3 years and I know him almost better than most of my friends.

I used to be able to say I was in love with him with a tongue-in-cheek attitude. It used to be a kind of hopeless joke, a puppy-love high school crush. I got older, I went for pot-heads and bad boys, outcasts and alcoholics. I managed to screw up (intentionally?) any relationship with decent, straightforward guys. I tore myself apart in a lot of ways. I would forget about him. Then I would come home and here he would be, back from school (where he graduated first in his class). We went out for sushi one time, the only guy I've ever met who has voluntarily suggested eating raw fish for dinner. We went for a drive in his new car; I found out he'd started smoking and stole cigarettes from him as we flew over River Road. I would go back to school confused and pining, then forget all over again.

Now it's starting to hurt when I see him. He is, I think, the fulfillment of every subconscious expectation I've never lived up to. Every goal I've fallen short of. Every secret straight-and-narrow desire I've ever had and walked away from. This is what I want, I think. Why can't I even think about working for it? I compare every man I've ever dated to him. None of them match, not even close.

His girlfriend is in a prestigious law school. She's pretty, but bland. I'm like his kid sister, I guess. We fought almost as much as he and his real sister did. I made fun of him to no end. He teased me right back, and told me when he'd wanted to ask a freshman to Prom. (She was a friend of mine much later; she had said no--she wasn't interested).

I don't know if he knows how I felt/feel. I don't know if his mother ever told him (in a moment of drunken sincerity I once confessed my love to her--she swore that every mother in the carpool had known...I think she was lying) or if he ever figured it out on his own. I saw him last night--he looked well, asked me what I was doing. We said good-bye, "see you around." I left a lingering question mark at the end of mine. His parents are gone now, they've moved out west, and his home, technically, isn't here anymore. He lives up north, where he might stay until the navy ships him out somewhere. He won't be back here any time soon--it takes a funeral to bring him back to West Virginia. He didn't invite me out--it was never really like that with us. I don't know when I'll see him again.