(cont...) Who is Michael Dale Meyers? by Philana Marie Boles

...I am, by nature and by choice and by every count, a girlie girl. It amazes me still that – with Tuna – I’d actually join him in turning dirt with popsicle sticks. And that I’d also help fling those slimy brown things into jars. YUCK!

But, you have to understand that, with Tuna, I was always game for any of his outdoor adventures. He was my best friend and he absolutely loved nature. Life with him was so much fun. Even during the school year, we’d hurry home, do our homework and then convene outside where Tuna would usually coordinate a neighborhood game of T.V. Tag or Simon Says.

But the best times, hands down, were those when it was just the two of us, just Tuna and Me.

Easily, he’d make me laugh and heartily we’d crack up together. It was, the best of times.

But then one year, Tuna’s parents divorced. He, his sister and his mother moved away. Eventually, probably a couple of years later, his dad remarried but remained in the house. I was still in elementary school, too young to truly understand the emotion I felt. It was complete and utter devastation. Sure, occasionally, Tuna would come over for weekends. The doorbell would ring and I – somewhere in the house – could hear his voice speaking to one of my parents. “Can Philana come out and play.” I'd sprint to go see him.

And then I don’t know… Gradually, our adventures seemed all in the past tense. Such is life and growing up, I suppose. But still, missing him was tough. Before I knew it, I was a teenager. Tuna’s house, sure, was always there for me to occasionally glance at and smile, but the memories were tucked away in a safe place.

And then, for some reason, around seventeen years old, I began to wonder again where he was. Did he remember me? Our adventures? Ironically, during my senior year in high school a classmate came up to me. She had a part time job at a restaurant and said that – in small talk the night before – she’d mentioned my name to someone and that another co-worker had overheard. “Philana,” he’d interjected. “Do you mean Philana Boles? That was my best friend when I was a kid!” I knew that he too was a teenager of course, but I imagined him then, not the way he probably looked then as a teen...