Too young

He was close to perfection yet a perfectly fallible teen. Every girl wanted to date him. Every guy wanted to be him. And somehow, she was a part of his world for a small moment in time. She never believed he saw her as anything more than a friend. There was once talk from others of his interest in her beyond friendship, but she would never know. 

She was happy just to share what little company he was willing to provide. She felt comfortable around him. It amazed her that he would enjoy coming to her house and spending time not just with her but her crazy mother and slightly goofy step-dad. Her house was small and old and left a lot to be desired. The carpet, where there was carpet, was still 70s shag orange and gold. The tile was laminate and green or cream, but most of it was cracked and peeling. The bookshelves were over run with too many books. The church pew held too many items for anyone to sit upon it. There were too many records for the shelve with record player to hold them all. Behind her step-dads chair was a dancing Elvis clock. The kitchen table was never used for eating and contained too many items even if it were wanted to be used for a meal. He had been in her cluttered room once, only to see the art work and poems on the walls. 

He enjoyed it at her house and she never understood why. He once said because he felt wanted. She is glad he had that feeling. She is glad she and her wacky family gave him that small comfort. 

At 16, he was the embodiment of perfection. Tall, athletic, blonde hair, and blue eyes. Today, she could not tell you his weight class, but he was a boxer, on his way to the junior Olympics for the second time and so proud. Her parents loved to talk boxing, a dying art they called it, and she always felt the shared interest and intrigue in his life and sport kept him coming back to visit. 

He would use her as a barbell. Looking back now, her body weight was easily 100 lbs less than the weight he used to work out regularly, but she always worried she was too heavy, fat, because she had been told so most of her life. Her brother had used her has a home weight set at a very early age so she knew how to keep her body straight and rigid. She'll never understand truly why he started paying attention to her, why he started talking to her, but she is go glad for the short time she knew him. 

His name is Billy, or I suppose in honesty, William. He died at the age of 16, only months after the friendship began to blossom and only a few short months before she was going to watch him box in the Jr Olympics. She didn't attend his funeral, not many people knew they had grown close and she was afraid of the ridicule from those who'd never understand. In her heart, she was there. 

The story is told his parents were fighting. The fight was getting extremely out of hand. In an effort to make them stop he grabbed a gun. When they still did not stop, he turned it on himself.  His dad tried to grab the gun from him when it discharged in his abdomen/chest. His younger brother, roughly 14 at the time witnessed the event. His parents called 911, but he bled out before they made it to the hospital.  

He was 16. He was kind. He cared about others and had a huge heart, too good for this world. He was an athlete, a brother, a son, and a good friend. He potentially had a great life ahead of him and it was lost too soon. 

I wish I would have seen Billy at age 20, age 30, and now at age 40. I can only imagine him in great shape, doing all he can for those who have less, still being kind to those around him. He was a great example of looking beyond appearances to the heart and soul of a person. We had long late night talks about what lay beyond; the meaning of it all.  Our souls matched each other, much too old and wise for our years. We found each other like we had known each other before and were destined to know each other again. His life and his death were all part of some bigger picture I am not aware of, but I am blessed our paths crossed and we found each other briefly before he was gone too soon.