Bookends

When I was in elementary school, I had a friend named Tikisha. Tikisha had the most beautiful mother in the whole school. She'd walk to the school to pick up Tikisha and her little brothers, and everyone would watch her. She was gorgeous! She didn't look anything like a mommy.

And, of course, she was very very young to be the mother of a child as old as Tikisha. But to a young child, a grown up is a grown up - no age distinctions.

When we started 5th grade, Tikisha and I both chose clarinet to play in the band. We sat next to each other, playing clarinet, for the next 6 years. I worked hard at it. I practiced lots and I took private lessons. By the time I got to high school, my dad was driving me to a nearby college town once a week so that I could take lessons with a professor there.

Tikisha rarely even took her clarinet home, but she always sat next to me, second chair. I strongly suspect that she threw chair tests because she knew that being first chair meant more to me than it did to her.

Tikisha had a really relaxed view about a lot of things. She was smart, but grades weren't important to her so she didn't really stand out in the crowd academically. Or athletically. Or musically. Or socially.

But by high school, Tikisha was beautiful, just like her mother. Sharply tilted gorgeous eyes. Quiet intelligence, quick humor, relaxed, comfortable attitude: who wouldn't love Tikisha?

One particular upper-classman drug dealer sure did.

By 10th grade, Tikisha and I were not as close as we used to be. The high school was a much bigger place than our little elementary school and we'd drifted into different groups.

She told me about the dealer. She didn't do drugs, that wasn't her thing, but she did really enjoy the spending money he'd give her. She just had to have sex with him, which she didn't mind, and he wouldn't wear a rubber. She wasn't too concerned.

When my family and I moved away toward the end of that year, Tikisha was pregnant.

I never talked to her again, but I often think about her and wonder what happened to her. And I wonder why I didn't speak up louder at the time, why I didn't make an effort to reach across and stay closer friends with her, why I didn't try to insist that she take care of herself.

I clearly remember thinking, "This is stupid, this can't end well, but this is her decision."

I just looked for her online. I am thrilled to see that she is married, with three kids, has a bachelor's degree, and a good job. And her favorite hobby is reading.

She was a better friend to me than I was to her, but I bet if we met again today we'd be friends. I love the Internet. Just not enough to actually write email and keep in touch with people.