Anthony had a Nintendo 64. First in the neighborhood, probably. He loved darth Vader honesty. He decided at 8 he would definitely grow up to be president.

He died at 20, I think? Maybe 18, maybe 22. Bad heart, maybe. Or bad luck. I know he didn’t always have to do gym, while I panicked and stressed about locker rooms and score points and being picked last.

I used to wish I could be him. Or be like him. He died though, and I’m still here. Should I be? Would, had we swapped places somewhere years ago, anthony be preparing for his presidential run?

We stopped being friends at some point in highschool. I don’t think it was malicious – we just drifted apart.

I saw his mom years later while I was working at a supermarket. A year or so after the funeral, which I didn’t attend because I was so anxious about the crowds and the different social circle. I think I was also terrified about the idea of death at 16, but I didn’t realize it then.

When I saw her I completely froze. I had no idea what to do or say. It’s so strange even now to me. I don’t think I’m scared of death, but I guess I don’t want to be close to it? I’m ok with rotting in the grave, but I don’t want it for anyone around me.

I never know what to say when someone dies. I’m sorry? that doesn’t cut it. This person who meant the world to you but I never met will be in my thoughts? I can’t even remember their name and it’s been 5 minutes. I don’t know. Maybe I’m shallow or selfish. Or maybe we all feel this way.

Anyway, I guess the point is I’m sorry anthony died, and I wish I could have seen what he would have been up to today. Maybe it would have been something spectacular. Maybe he would have also been stress blogging at 3am wondering when the fuck the merry-go-round stops.