There are a lot of things I would want to remember about Griffin Sky. Like the day we climbed to the roof of my house, our book bags full of strawberry popsicles. How we sat up, staring at the summer sun, talking, laughing, sharing secrets. How we ate Popsicle after Popsicle until there were red spots all over the white roof. How we looked down and pretended we were guardians of the world, sent to protect, and how we threw our Popsicle sticks into the river by my house.

Or maybe the day we went roller skating and I was so scared I held onto poles and garbage cans the whole way. Or the warm feeling his hand had when he held onto mine and we skated past couples and toddlers. The wind soared between the strands of my hair, and how he grinned, his teeth sparkling white, the sun glinting off of them. I remember how he told me that he was moving as a prank, and I was so shocked I roller skated into a garbage can and fell, breaking my arm. I remember how he hushed me and wiped away my tears, asking strangers to use their cell phone.


Or maybe that day I got braces and I cried the whole way home because I thought I looked like a freak. How Griffin ran after me the whole way, his bangs flipping each and every way until he tackled me and hugged me, saying I looked great, even though I didn’t. How I smiled up at him and we shared gum even though the dentist told me not to eat it.


Or maybe I could think about the Winter Dance in 8th grade. How we were sitting by the lake, our feet dipping slightly into it. He started babbling on about Romeo and Juliet, which we were reading, and how they were stupid to kill themselves. And I agreed, and we laughed and laughed. Then his face went straight and serious and he asked, “Who are you going to the dance with?” and I shrugged, and said, “Probably no one. How about you?” he shook his head, hard. “I was wondering if you want to go with me…” I smiled and nodded.


Or maybe I could think about our first kiss. We were at the gas station, after his car broke down in the middle of our date. He was complaining how he ruined our first date and he would never forgive himself. But I laughed and said it was the best first date I’ve ever had. He smiled and hugged me, and soon enough, I tilted my head up and kissed him, emotions rising and building in my chest until I couldn’t take it no more and I pulled away.


But the one memory I don’t want to remember is when he told me he was leaving. That he was enrolling in the military and they accepted him. And I cried and cried, saying that he could take it back, that he didn’t have to go. He smiled and shook his head, tears on the bridge of falling from his own green eyes. “I can’t take it back, Shelby, you know that…I’m serving our country” he says softly. I sobbed into his plaid shirt, “No, no…please don’t go” I whisper. He cupped my face in his hands and said, “I’ll be thinking of you all the time. You have to be strong for yourself, and I’ll be strong for our country, you hear?” he said sternly, and I nodded. Then we shared one last kiss, my heart doing jumping jacks as he walked away.


Another memory I don’t want to remember? The day I received news that he died in war. That he was found shot in the head, and he was never coming back, no matter how bad I thought he would. I locked myself in my room for a week, staring at the pictures of when we were little. Then I climbed up to my roof and stared at the Strawberry Popsicle stains splattered all over. I traced them with my finger and smiled, but then as I lay my face on the roof, I started to cry.