Will, that boy with the smile

Our 4B AP English class on September 11, 2015. Will is in the white shirt, third from the left.

     Walking into class robotically, I said hi to my favorite teacher Mrs. Anderson and dropped my binder on the ground beside my desk, laying my purse next to it. I was exhausted. I wanted to go home. I didn’t care.

     By fourth block, the bags under my eyes could not accurately illustrate the exhaustion I felt, and I found myself drifting off to sleep.

     I woke to the sudden, loud sound of a laugh; my head lifted, and I reluctantly lifted my eyes across the room, setting my eyes on the source. Will.

     I couldn’t be mad that he had woken me, his laugh was all too contagious and put me into a much better mood. This was a daily thing for me, waking up to his laugh, or at least his voice booming across the classroom. That was Will.

     I never thought of him as a close friend, hardly even a friend, but his friendly smile was a part of my B day routine. I noticed him, because his personality just stood out, more than anyone else within the confine of those four white walls which I so greatly wished to escape. He was always talking, always smiling, always saying the most random things. I enjoyed his contribution to my daily trek, as he gave the fourth block period some character. Someone to look at, someone to listen to, someone who stuck out.

     His character was something I never forgot, as he never forgot anything. That boy was brilliant, let me tell you. His schedule was impossible. My friend Josh, who was close with Will, always told me about all the AP classes he took. He was the drum major. He was quite plainly and simply as brilliant as a star that never stopped shining despite all exhaustion.

     How does he do it? I asked myself nearly every time I heard something about his classes.

     I never knew. Through that big grin he always grinned, I never knew someone so brilliant could actually feel the same stress that I felt, the same pressure to succeed. I never felt the need to tell him what I thought of him, I didn’t think he needed to know.

     I sat in room 124 every 4B and thought to myself, I want to be that driven. I want to be that smart. I want to be that genuinely kind.

     I didn’t interact with him in that class, but he interacted with me. Making my day easier with his smile. Motivating me to do better with his pure ingenious thoughts that never seemed to stop. Making me happier by being himself. And he never knew.

     As I sit here typing all of this, I only wish I had told him. I wish I had been that girl to be so kind that he would have felt awkward as I told him how his bright smile made my day. I wish I joked with him about how he woke me up during class and kept me focused and determined by simply being as smart as he was.

     But I never spoke to him outside of exchanging thesis statements or body paragraphs for peer evaluation. I never told him the little things that I noticed about him, I never became his friend.

     Suicide isn’t a disease; you can’t give someone medicine to make them happy, at least not fully happy. All anyone can do is be happy, and make other people happy whenever they can.

     To anyone reading this: tell anyone and everyone what they mean to you, whether it’s the girl that lends you a pencil or the boy who makes your day with his smile. Always tell them, it could make a difference.

     I send my deepest condolences and prayers to Will’s parents/family, I can’t imagine what you’re going through. I never told him what he did for me, but I thought I would at least tell you. You raised an amazing son. Thank you.