I remember being thirteen and taking you to middle school the first time. I remember how I couldn’t hold your hand anymore cause by then you were too old for that. You were so nervous and I was nervous for you. I watched you go down the sixth grade hallway, evaporating into a mess of normal kids. You looked like one of them, something I couldn’t do.

I remember meeting up after school to walk home. As soon as we left the school yard, you started to cry. I asked what was wrong and you said you thought you’d see me more in middle school. I sighed. I apologized. I told you I would try to visit more. It seemed to help. You stopped crying. I wanted to hold your hand, but you were too old for that.