I was in second grade when Ryan Curtis, a fourth grader, jumped feet-first onto the other end of the see-saw. I didn't see him prepare for the jump, but I remember gripping worn wooden handlebars until my hands burned as I shot up into the air. I never let go, even as I landed awkwardly on the beam and slammed my head on top of my right hand. I bruised my chin and cut my lip.

The recess monitor alerted my teacher to what had just passed, and she hurried out to bring me back into school and clean me up. She handed me the carton of chocolate milk I was supposed to drink during snack later that morning, as there wasn't an ice pack handy and the milk was still cold. She had wrapped a paper towel around it and told me to press it against my mouth.

It would help, she said, and it did. I was able to stop crying and I was fine by the time my classmates returned to their desks.

I remember that Ryan had been laughing as I was led away, but I have no recollection of him from that point on. My trust had been broken and I told myself that I would never forgive him. So he simply ceased to exist to me. He just disappeared.

I'm surprised to see you, but happy. Things feel right now, as you and I each know that the other is here for this. We've been there so many other times that it's almost expected.

I wave and smile brightly, but you return the gesture with much less gusto. I imagine you thinking that you're not willing to come off as fake or shallow like I do, that you're being honest and I'm not.

But you're mistaken. Of course it's jarring, I won't deny that. I've grown used to not seeing you and I almost forgot, in a way, that you were still going through days and weeks. That we both made our ways here - to the same part of here, even - is a bit of a shock; naturally, I feel somewhat awkward.

I have no intention of walking over to you to say hello, much as I think you expect me to. It would be the polite thing to do, to say hi and exchange strained chitchat. I'm well, you're fine, we've each been working and keeping busy. Same old, same old, you know.

But I can't be bothered to lie for the sake of courtesy. You don't know, and it hasn't been the same as it always has been. And I don't want to share it with you, nor do I want you to share your new developments with me. Neither of us deserves to know about the other.

There are new people in my life now, people you will frankly, likely never meet. They've listened to me laugh and cry and tell stories, much like how you used to. And I know their stories, much as I used to know yours.

I thought of you sometimes, but after a bit, I just stopped. I prefer to think of you as you were when I knew you. I almost forgot that you were continuing on, same as me.

It might be cold of me, but I just prefer to forget about you existing as someone I don't know. The person I once knew well is gone.

I don't feel a need to look back to see you again. I looked over once, that was enough. There's a gap in the crowd, and I'm going to walk away with my friends.

But it really was good to see you. I'm glad you made the trip.

Music - Ani Difranco, "Good, Bad, Ugly"
- 12:45 p.m.