All these people keep saying is “I’m so sorry,” and “I wish I’d had the chance to get to know you,” and “I miss you so much, I’ll never forget you.” It’s all bullshit.
You’re not sorry. You have no idea why he killed himself. No one does.
You had ten years to get to know him. We were all in school together for ten fucking years and you’re saying you didn’t get the chance? No. You missed your opportunity. That window was open since the first grade and all of us—but a select few—took it for granted. You never even gave him a second glance.
You don’t miss him. You didn’t even know him. In the last decade, you’d probably had three conversations with him. You weren’t friends. You don’t know anything about him. You can’t miss someone you don’t know. You can’t miss a stranger.
And you will forget him. Years will pass. Memories will fade. I’ll forget that he sat behind me in geography in grade nine and he sat at the back of the room in homeroom science in grade ten. I’ll forget about his dog and that time my mom was sure it was a bear. I’ll forget his little brother’s name, and the way he kind of stutters just like him when he speaks. I’ll forget the date we found out he was gone, where I was and who I was with. I’ll forget the guilt I feel for not noticing his sadness. I’ll forget that I knew him since I was six years old. I’ll forget his smile and his blonde hair and that song the ladies sang at his funeral. I’ll forget his blue house on Bayview even though I drive past it every day, and I’ll forget about him. I won’t remember how his death made me feel, and I won’t remember his name. One day, Zuber will be a distant memory to me that will never even cross my mind.
Happy 16th Birthday, Zuber. I hope it was everything you had hoped it would be. Rest in Peace.