I never learned your last name.
That doesn’t keep me from thinking about you and remembering all of what you said to me.
You asked me for help with your Lion’s jacket and pinning it together.
When you got bored during rehearsal, you would pester me.
Kicking the back of my chair.
Fanning the back of my neck and my hair with your script.
You acted as the brother I never had, but always wanted.
I enjoyed playing charades and telephone with you.
Playing 20 second fairy tale, and killing you off as Tinkerbell.
We acknowledged each other’s presence each day.
We made quirky and witty remarks and slams that we all laughed at.
I walked in on you while you had your shirt off, and of course you made a big deal about it as if you were completely naked and exposed.
You told me that you weren’t nervous, but it came through your voice on stage.
I ran your lines with others, and you would **** in and try to deliver them yourself, even if you didn’t know them.
I always called you out for moving in Red Light, Green Light.
You never won any games, but tried very hard.
We talked about our siblings, road ****, Disney movies, and Navy Seals.
You even like MAS*H, which just happens to be my absolute favorite.
Backstage, we had shoot-outs.
I ALWAYS shot before you even proclaimed “draw,” and watched you fall to the ground.
There was hardly a moment together we didn’t enjoy.
The ***** talk and the calm, sensible, personal talk.
Everything was exciting to me and made my heart and my mind giddy.
I think that you liked me.
How, I can’t distinguished.
You were definitely a friend, but more than that, I don’t know.
You told me your last name once, but I can’t recall it.
That doesn’t keep me from thinking about you and remembering all of what you said to me.