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Dear Fitzy,

Today I’ve been gone 100 days.

Somehow it feels like a lifetime and an hour. More like a lifetime though. A lifetime of torture.

I’ve been thinking a lot about our lifetime. I tell Sarah about you—my best friend, the boy next door, the one I met in kindergarten who I never spent a day without unless under duress.

Or until he stopped looking for me.

I’m too hurt to be mad. In some ways, I get why your mom wants that. I think you’ll go far, far, and away from Manhasset one day. As far as you can go. Maybe California since I don’t think there are football teams in Alaska. Wherever you go, everyone will love you like I did because you’re just a really good person. You’re kind of impossible to hate, dammit. So even though I’m hurt, I don’t hate you. I never have and never will. If anything, I’m thankful you gave me something to hold onto when I’m here: memories.

Some people here are able to have pictures in their room of their families when they “level up.”

If I could have one, it would be of you. There’s a photo of us in my desk drawer from when we were little. It was the day of our first communion. I remember Honey finding it one day a few years ago and showing it to me. She said we looked like a little bride and groom.

I said we just looked like us.

I wish I could see a photo of you then and a photo of you now on my wall here. If I did, I imagine I’d cry and laugh. Because that’s what you’ve been for me, Fitzy—the highs, the lows, and everything in between. But that’s life I guess. It’s ups and downs and adventures.

I’m on this one without you, but I’m still so lucky we had them together. I hope you never forget me them.

Rebels Only.

Parker