Lizard

I am thirty-three years old today. It's my birthday, but I can't stop thinking about Liz Sterling. She was there at my birthday when I turned twelve. She have me one of those customized birthday cards. You know the kind. The ones that calculate how many hours you've slept since you were born... or how many breaths you will have taken by the time you turn ninety. A few days before my birthday party at Skatetown USA, Liz called my mom to get a few of the necessary details about my life. Then she had a card created and personalized just for me.

Liz Sterling. Lizard. Lizard was what some called back at Sam Houston Elementary. She was fiesty, intelligent, cute as hell... She never knew it, but I always had a crush on her.

We were in the Safety Patrol together back in 5th grade. This was where we got to wear badges and help direct traffic before and after school. We had orange hard hats. Somewhere I still have mine. At the end of the year we all signed each other's hats.

One day, some time before we signed each others' hats, she and I were putting up everybody's Safety Patrol crap in the Music Room. No one was around really, and Lizard and I had started talking about kissing. Memory is an unreliable historian, but I think I asked her about french kissing. "What is french kissing?"

No, Reader, she didn't show me. But she described it to me. She whet my curiosity... though unfortunately, I would have to wait YEARS to really understand what she meant. But I remember her laughing at my obvious discomfort. Between Liz, and another girl named Zoe (who was my best friend at the time), I learned early just how dumb boys were compared to girls. But that is all right. To see Liz laugh made everything cool. I wish that I could see her laugh again.

Liz died back when we were in high school. I don't remember exactly when (sophomore year?), or under what circumstances (car accident). Regardless, she is gone and it sucks.

I wasn't a close friend of hers. At some point in middle school, we started moving in different circles. You know how it goes. Most of us typically have a handful of kids we really pal around with, and most other folks are just kind of there. But I would see her and wave or say hello. There are others who have grieved her loss with a lot more heartache than me... although I join them in wishing she were still alive today.

Liz is my teacher today. She reminds me how precious people truly are... even those from the distant, foggy past. Even strangers with whom we've share some momentary flicker of recognition leave their mark. Liz reminds me of the transience of life. The people in our lives today will not always be there... at least, not in the same way.

Often we realize the lesson too late. And we come into the high holy days of our lives with fragmented memories and more questions than answers. I'm left wondering what Liz would have done with her "one wild life," if she had been able to enjoy more time on this earth.

Maybe the job for us now is to look around. Take a look at the people you see. Might be there is something extraordinary they can share with you... for a time, anyway. And without a doubt, the clock is ticking.