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Henry, 1982
You were the head of the French department and my advisor freshman year. You spent every other year in France with the abroad program and seemed utterly out of your element in upstate New York. Even when you weren’t speaking, your lips were pinched in a constant pucker, ever ready to produce that difficult and dreadful euwww sound. Damn you for rejecting me from the French program, but it pointed me in a new direction — writing — a better fit, and far more useful to me than French.
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Mr. Rumple, 1973
You were a dear friend of my parents who I remember sitting in our kitchen on any given night, having dropped in for a cocktail on your way home from work. You were short of stature, with dark hair parted to the side and a walrus moustache, and you scarcely opened your mouth when you talked. You referred fondly to men in your circle as “that goddamned so-and-so.” As a young child I understood, through you, that friendship was something adults cultivated, too.
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Roberto, 1980
You were about fifteen but looked in body more like twelve, and it was shocking to see you smoking your cigarettes like a fiend. The dark shadows under your eyes suggested you slept poorly, and aged your face by decades. You were from an “important” family in Bogota and sent me brochures on your beautiful, lush country, asking me to come visit you. Your gentlemanly manner with women seemed way beyond your years, but you were like a little brother to me.
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Toby, 1980
Could I have conjured up a more stereotypical Brit? Your pasty complexion was prone to sunburns, and you were tall and thin with straight, fine hair. You even wore black socks with white tennis shoes. But you were an excellent companion that summer in France, ready to go anywhere, game for anything.
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Dorothy, 1983
I thought you hated me, but my mother’s theory was that you hated men, including your son. I don’t actually think this was true, but you certainly seemed bitter and miserable and overwhelmed. Your house was a jumble of clutter and you were constantly working on a part of it, getting one room painted and decorated and perfect amidst the chaos. All those years later you called me and asked if I would reach out to Duncan, who was in some kind of distress, but I was in no position then to help him out.
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Nina, 1980
You were my Quebec exchange student and to be honest I was disappointed when I first saw you at the train station. You looked fat, but it was just that you had large breasts, whereas I was flat as a pancake. You were obsessed with McDonalds, and so independent that you figured out how to take the bus to the nearest one and frequently went there by yourself. You refused to speak any French at my house, but when we switched to your house, we stuck with English because you were more motivated than me, and it was just easier that way.
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Liz, 1988
We were roommates for over three years and developed a kind of symbiosis in which we would alternate paying for things, keeping mental tabs, and when we reconciled we almost always netted out even. You could never laugh without crying. You were voracious for information of any kind and would read newspapers, novels, pamphlets or the backs of food containers with equal absorption. If I were ever on Millionaire and needed to call a friend, you’d be the friend I’d call.
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