I remember. It was sophomore year. We were sitting on the stage in those ugly blue chairs. We were both using one of the music stands from guitar as a footrest. I liked his shoes. I can't remember what we were talking about as our feet fought over the stand. I don't know who else was on the stage with us, but it didn't matter. I don't know why this moment was remembered so well in my mind. But we were sitting, ignoring everyone else, and talking. He told me he wanted a cigarette. I told him they caused cancer. He said something along the lines of "I don't give a fuck." He looked like he was going to walk away, so I didn't press the subject. I didn't want him mad at me. I probably should have, though.

It was weird, when I found out he was gay. Well, he was bi, but he told his boyfriend that he was fully gay. I had a small crush on him because he just amazed me. When I found out he was gay, it didn't change anything. I still thought he was pretty. I still loved his smile. I still thought he was amazing.

He signed my junior year yearbook, even if he had moved to Tolleson. He went our end-of-the-year drama club banquet. No one minded. Everyone loved him and we hadn't seen him for awhile. He was a junior then, too. On the bottom of the junior page, he wrote, "Hope you have a kick ass summer! Hope you had a great year. Good luck next year. I'll try visit as much as I can." He even put a heart at the end.

He'd been in the hospital for awhile. I wasn't ever sure what happened. All I was told was something with the drugs he was using. I went with Amber once, to the hospital. He was on the fourth floor, in the pediatrics. He was a minor. They weren't letting in visitors that day. Amber and I both hated hospitals. We never went back.

Today is his funeral. It's at five. I'm going with Amber. I don't know what I'm going to wear. They're burying him tomorrow. I wish I could go. I can't. I have school. I don't think my mom would let me miss it.

He died on New Year's Eve. He didn't make it to 2009. He didn't see second semester. He didn't get to graduate. He didn't have a chance to visit. I knew something was wrong on New Year's Eve. I'd been wanting to cry all day and now I know why. I did cry, as the ball dropped, as I sat in my room all alone. Everything felt so wrong.

He wasn't my best friend, but I loved him all the same. He was my friend. I'll never forget that day in the auditorium, before play rehearsal, with his shoes next to mine on that music stand. I should have told him not to do it. I doubt it would have made any difference, but I should have said something. I shouldn't have let it go.

This is for Cristian, my friend. People never understand why I hated drugs, not even Cristian did. I'm sure they'll understand why now.