There was this guy named Ryan and, for reasons unbeknownst to me, my best friend called him Julie when we passed him in the halls. His long, straw-like hair was always dyed exotic colors ranging from lime green to hot pink, and he wore it confidently while walking with a slouching swagger.
My statistics teacher asked me to be her teacher's assistant during A4. While grading papers, a student stole my expensive graphing calculator and scratched my name off the back. He didn't know about the hidden initials inside the battery case.
Once in Ballroom class, I watched a boy drag his tongue grotesquely across his palms repeatedly and slide them through his unwashed hair during roll call. When it was time to pick a partner, he chose my best friend. It wasn't until lunch time when she nibbled on her pizza that I remembered to tell her about the hand-licker. We were careful to avoid dancing with him after that.
On the Vegas/San Diego band tour, a fellow clarinetist formed an unhealthy attachment to me. He always sat beside me on the bus, wrote me notes in his secret language, and tried to hold my hand whenever he saw an opportunity. Only sixteen, I didn't know how to navigate the experience. I tried to be nice without leading him on, but this backfired, and he was convinced I liked him too. He never knew how uncomfortable he made me or the lengths I went to avoid him.
I thought of all these people and more while the moon watched with wide eyes and mouth agape. I studied his craters, trying to memorize the marbled pattern. The longer I peered at the celestial being, the heavier I felt. I remembered so much, but I couldn't help but wonder what people remembered about me. Would they look back with fondness at some witty joke I made about Harry Potter in Sociology, or would they remember a snappy remark that I spat through my defensive shell? Would they remember that I was smart and loved learning or that I was a know-it-all who raised my hand too much? Was there someone laying in bed looking at their Facebook invitation who remembered sitting beside me in band, or will I show up and sit alone because I was too forgettable?
The saddest thing is I don't which bothers me more, being remembered for my weaknesses or not being remembered at all.