Making and Losing:
A Friend 



I finish off a sandwich that has been smuggled illicitly from the college cafeteria and change into my shorts for a late-night jog.  The end of my third semester at George Fox University has been drawing to an end, and my constant school work has hardly given me a chance to run.  I anticipate the cool, November air pressing against my face when—

The doorbell rings.

I open the door to find my neighbors, Hannah and Katie at the other end. Both girls have odd, almost vacant expressions on their faces.   When I ask them if they’ve come to visit my roommate Shane, Hannah shakes her head and peers at her feet.  “Did you see Aaron’s Facebook page?”  
Her question is so unexpected that it gives me pause.  Hannah, Katie, and I have a mutual friend named Aaron.  He is probably my closest friend at Fox.   “Aaron Altman?” I ask.

Hannah nods.

“No,” I respond slowly.  What might Aaron have posed?

“People are writing RIP on it.”

“What?” RIP.  Rest in Peace. Surely this must be some kind of sick joke or misunderstanding. Young people just didn’t suddenly die—at least the ones I knew.

My mind reels.



I sit beneath a tent at George Fox Welcome Weekend when two young men join me.  Their names are Aaron and Jarod. I have met them both a few times over the weekend, but neither has made too much of an impression on me yet.  

“Hi Aaron, Jarod,” I say.

Aaron smiles.  “Hey Squire.  You remember names well.”  Admittedly, I don’t deserve his compliment.  I have been working extra hard at remembering names this weekend but usually am embarrassingly bad in this regard.



By the end of my first semester, Aaron has become somewhere between an acquaintance and a friend. We talk every now and then and have eaten a few meals together in the cafeteria.  I have come to realize that Aaron is one of the kindestand friendliest guys at Fox; he consistently takes time to talk with anyone he sees.  And I am always happy to talk to him, too.  His friendliness is infectious.  Others have remarked that whenever they see Aaron on campus, they know that their day is about to get better.  One young man who has been ostracized by his floor-mates has even shared with me that Aaron is one of the few guys in his dorm building who has treated him with respectand even stood up for him. 

Perhaps one reason for Aaron being so well-liked at school would be his constant smile; nobody ever catches him feeling down.  Although I have deciphered one way to tell when he is not 100% at peace.  Every once in a while, when someone asks him how he is doing, Aaron will tweak his head to the side and sigh before responding “pretty good.”  

Still, I don’t necessarily foresee a strong friendship forming between Aaron and me.  Aaron is, for the lack of a less overusedword, “popular.”  Girls love him and guys flock to him; he is constantly engaged in some kind of adventure with his numerous friends.  He has a flair for style—along with a shoe collection, rivaling that found in almost any young woman’s wardrobe.

So, as a reserved and somewhat nerdy 20-year-old who is still adjusting myself to college life, pursuing much of a friendship with Aaron does not even occur to me.

Nonetheless, I am glad to see Aaron in the cafeteria one Wednesday afternoon toward the end of my first semester.  Aaron tells me about a late-night trip to Muchas Gracias—or simply Muchas, as the college students like to call it.  When I admit that I’ve never been to Muchas, Aaron resolves that we need to go together soon; he says he goes there all the time and cannot get enough of their food.

Aaron and I talk for a little while longer.  When the subject of girls arises, I admit there is a girl I like: naturally, one who hardly knows I exist.  Aaron gets quite excited for me, especially when I “let it slip” that I hope to ask her on a coffee date soon. My friend, being a “ladies’ man” and natural flirt, gives me all the advice I could ask for.

“I’m nervous,” I admit.  “I’ve never asked a girl out before and don’t know how I want to ask her.”  I go on to explain that I want an excuse to talk to her one-on-one before asking her on a date; so I’m considering just buying a gift certificate to Chapters, our local coffee shop.  This way, next time I see her alone, I can tell her that I was just heading over to Chapters and ask her if she wants to come with me; after all, I have a gift card and can treat her.  This will give us a chance to talk one-on-one.

“Not sure about that,” says Aaron.  “Girls like it when you pay money for them.”

As the two of us walk back from the cafeteria to our dorm rooms, we pass by the girl we’ve just been talking about.  I point her out to Aaron.

“Good,” he says.  “She’s cute.”



First semester ends.  On Friday evening of our first week back after Christmas break, Aaron and I walk to Muchastogether for the first time.  By this point, Aaron has become my confidant.  He is the only person at Fox I talk about girls with, and I always enjoy his input—especially because he has vastly more experience in this area than me.  I tell Aaron a long story about the girl I like turning me down—and how this experience leads me to realize that I like someone else, a girl who actually likes me as a person.  (Let’s call this second girl Licie—not her real name, of course.)  

I tell Aaron the entire story about my friendship with Licie, a story that involves me accidentally texting her twice, meaning to text my childhood friend.  And both times the text was, of course, about Licie.  As we take our seats at the back of the restaurant, Aaron laughs and laughs at my story—a story thatsounds almost too ridiculous to be true.  Aaron gets his usual order of a breakfast burrito, while I order a burrito with potatoes in it.  From the time we sit down until we leave, we never stop talking; we talk about my friends, my family, my classes.  Mostly, I talk and Aaron listens.  He is one of the best listeners I’ve ever met—and one of the easiest people to talk to.  I establish a connection with him more quickly than I ever havebefore with any guy.  As someone who most easily develops deep friendships with women and finds it strangely difficult to have deep conversations with other men, instantly clicking with Aaron feels so refreshing.

When Aaron and I return to campus, we don’t feel ready to part quite yet.  So, even though it’s a cold winter evening, we decide to walk around the college for a bit.  For another half hour, we walk in loops around the school and talk. I start telling Aaron about my friend, Kenzie, and how much I admire her.

“You and her are just friends?” Aaron asks.

“Yeah.  I kind of see Kenzie as an adult more than someone my own age. Her best friend died in a car crash before she came to Fox, which forced her to grow up.”

“And her mom died, too, right?”

“Nah.  You’re mixing her up with Sophia.  Sophia’s the closest thing I have to a sister.  We even call each other brother and sister.”

“That’s a neat bond.  Kind of like me and my childhood friend.”

As someone who has many platonic female friends, I get asked these kinds of questions a lot.  But something in Aaron’s voice, when he asks whether I have interest in Kenzie, sets him apart from most other people.  He does not expect or hope for a particular answer. When I tell him “no,” he asks no more questions.  Aaron just wants to know because he is interested in my life.

This exchange speaks to a key aspect of Aaron’s personality.  He accepts whatever anyone says at face value.  If I’ve made a decision, he trusts this decision the right one for me; if I tell him I love someone in a certain way, he accepts what I say without further questions; if I want something unusual out of life, he trusts that this is right for me.  Never has Aaron suggested I do something I don’t want to do or feel differently than I do.

In this regard, I’ve met very few people like him.



By the end of the school year, Aaron and I have startedgoing to Muchas together every few weeks.  After these outings,it has become our routine to always walk around campus andtalk some more.   I connect with Aaron unlike anyone at Fox,and I quickly come to count him among my best friends. For once, I am so thankful to have found a guy friend that I can truly open up to.  

On finals’ week, Aaron and I take one final trip to Muchas—and, of course, we walk around campus afterward.  He tells me that his parents are planning to eventually move to Paso Robles, a town in my home county in central California.  I hopethat this might make it easier for us to perhaps form a lifelong friendship.  When Aaron visits his parents, we can hang out, too.  

“That would be neat,” agrees Aaron. 

“You know,” I say.  “I was thinking about what people I would like to develop deeper friendships with next year.  And I realized that you were on the top of the list.  I kind of consider you my closest friend at Fox.”

Aaron pauses.  “Yeah, I guess I’d say you’re my best friend here, too.”  I figure that he is merely saying this to make me feel good.  Aaron has so many friends.  And, while Aaron and I have amazing heart-to-hearts, he and I don’t get together more than once every few weeks.  I find it hard to imagine that I could be his closest friend at school.



My first day back at school the following year proves to be one of the most stressful days of my life.  My Aunt calls me at 4:00 to tell me that my mom is in the hospital.  She has fallen down the bottom of a flight of stairs and is about to receive surgery.  

And then we lose connection.

I become frantically stressed.  Not being able to know what is happening to my mom is overwhelming, and I can hardly even find enough peace of mind to pray.  So I send out a group text asking some of my Christian friends for prayer.  The first person on this text is the first name on my phone contact list:  Aaron Altman.

Just three minutes later, I receive a text back from Aaron: “Hey Squire.  I’m sorry. Just saw you walk past the cafeteria.  Need someone to talk to?  I’m here.”  Aaron meets up with me in my on-campus apartment to pray with me.

After praying for my mom’s injury, Aaron prays for me.  “God,” he says.  “I thank you for Squire.  He has a really special heart for people.  Give him peace.”  Over the course of the prayer, he remarks that I have a “special heart” three times.  



September 29, 1993 is my 21st birthday.  Instead of “hitting the bars,” I opt to get myself drunk on coffee instead. After drinking all the coffee that my stomach can possibly hold, I head to Muchas with Aaron for dinner.  I try to pay for him since I have a gift certificate, but he insists on spending his money for both of us; it’s my birthday.  I tell him next time will be my turn to pay.

So the next time we go, on October 27th, he lets me pay.  We have not hung out for a month, and we have a lot to tell each other.  I tell him about another girl I’m interested in—and he catches me up on his love life, as well.  After finishing our meal, we head back to his off-campus apartment and talk for another hour.  I tell him everything that I plan to happen in a novel-sized story I’m writing.  He is the first person that I ever describe the entire plot to, from beginning to end.  He listens and provides feedback.  Then I say goodbye, hug Aaron, and leave.

Neither of us has any idea that this is the last time we’ll see each other.  

When I get back to my apartment, I have a text from Aaron.  He says he a really good time tonight; we shouldn’t wait so long to hang out again.  



Six days later, however, I begin to doubt that this will ever be a possibility.  Hannah and Katie are still standing at my doorway, so I invite them in.  “People are writing on his Facebook like he’s dead,” repeats Hannah.  “Do you know anything about this?”

“No,” I say in disbelief.  “But Aaron’s one of my best friends.”

“We know.  That’s why we came to you.”

I swallow.



I am jogging.  Down the sidewalk.  

On my way to Aaron’s apartment.  He hasn’t answered any of my phone calls or texts, but I will find him in his apartment; I am sure of it.  I will tell him that people are writing lies on his Facebook.  Saying he’s dead.

Looks like I found time for a jog, after all.

“Damn it.”  I find a passcode on the door.  I don’t know the code.  And no one’s nearby to open the door. 

A vibration in my pocket.  It’s Hannah, the girl next door.  “Hey Squire.  Shane told me you were going to check Aaron’s apartment.  Need a ride back?”  I say sure.  Hannah asks where to pick me up.  Still don’t know the name of any streets.  So I have to locate a stop sign before replying.

I strum my fingers against my leg.  Lean against the wall of the apartment complex.  Breathe heavily.  I begin to calm down.

A car pulls next to the curb.  I climb in Katie’s car.  The girls say “hi” to me.  As Katie starts the engine, I remark that this just seems unreal. I don’t believe that Aaron’s dead.  Neither girl responds.  We return to campus, and I get out of the car.  Katie turns to me.

“We didn’t want to tell you this when you were in the car,” she says slowly.  She puts a hand on my shoulder.

Oh no. 

“But we looked into it.  Aaron’s gone.  He was found at a party.”

A party?  What does that mean? “He . . . he overdosed?”  I never knew anything about Aaron partying or doing drugs.

Katie nods.

“Thanks.  I need to go.  Be by myself.” 

I walk off mindlessly.



I stand in a small reception room at Aaron’s on-campus service two weeks later.

“Squire!”  Aaron’s mom throws her arms around me.  “You were Aaron’s friend!  He talked about you all the time.”   Aaron’s mom keeps hugging me.  “You were one of his best friends.”  She introduces me to Aaron’s older brother and gives me his phone number.  She says that she wants me to text Aaron’s brother and try to hang out with him—just to keep some kind of friendship alive.

A week later, Aaron’s parents invite me to help them clean my friend’s apartment.  I am the only guy from Fox that they invite to help them do this.  For Christmas, they send me a box of candies.

This present reminds me of a conversation I had with Aaron.  When Aaron told me I was his best friend at Fox, I didn’t believe him.  Because Aaron was so well-liked by everyone.

 I could not have been more wrong.