Garrett Kress died.

Garrett Kress died.

Garrett isn't someone who I had thought about every day or even often but when my brother told me that he just died of cancer, I felt like something had been lost. Something huge and important.

I hadn't seen Garrett since high school. 1986.

Up until that time, I didn't even know that such an interesting creature could exist. I have to admit that I led a substantially sheltered existence there in my small town corner of the South. I was like every other girl in my town. I would get the usual crushes on the guy with the coolest Trans-Am or the loudest car stereo. I swear...Aldo Nova and AC/DC attracted girls like bees to nectar in my town. We liked the jocks and the boys with the gun racks. Testosterone.

Then I saw him.

Garrett was a short kid. A year older but a few good inches shorter than me. But, what he lacked in height, he made up for in hair. A mohawk . A jet-black mohawk. The first I had ever seen. It was glorious. I was spellbound. He had this hair and these clothes - these punk boy, ' I don't give a shit ' clothes and ears full of tarnished studs. He smoked cigarettes with a soft long draw that never seemed to last long enough. It seemed so deliberate and so in your face. His music was rebellious and anarchist and foreign. I was done for.

He had transferred in from up North and quite noticeably wasn't too happy about it. I couldn't blame him though. My school wasn't even remotely fertile ground for smart kids. For free thinkers. For those who were ' different '. We had our rebel flags and useless pep rallies and agriculture and automotive classes. You had to fit into certain cliques or there was no hope for happiness. It was on the fringes of those cliques where I usually slipped undetected beneath the radar for the majority of my junior high and high school years.

Garrett and my brother were in computer science class together and soon became great friends. Before long, they were hanging out together at my house . They'd play D&D or stay in my brother's room where I'd listen with my heart pounding through closed door hoping to hear just the tiniest bit of his inflection.

I remember spending hour upon hour talking to my best friend and fawning over him. I was upset because I wasn't cool enough for him. I knew that there was nothing I could do about it.....I was too afraid ....but yet, I fawned on. He was splendid. He was splendid and so unlike any other boy I had ever seen.

Once, he watched Purple Rain with me and I thought I was going to lose my mind, the reflection of the TV falling across his pale face caught with quick glances when he wasn't looking. Another time, he asked if he could borrow some of my earrings and I watched with unbridled excitement as he slipped a dangling silver cross through the hole in his ear. Time stood still.

But, still I never was cool enough for him. Not that I asked him or even told him that I worshipped him.

I just pretty much figured that he never knew I existed. And, I am sure he didn't really. I was still transparent. Even when I wanted so much to be seen.

The kids at my school were mean to him and he couldn't go anywhere without being picked on for being different. I hated them for it. I had always hated them because I didn't fit in to their cliques but I hated them more now because I had ever wanted to. I felt embarrassed and ashamed for ever even entertaining the idea.

Before long, he moved away. Back up North. That was the last I ever heard of Garrett but buried deep inside of me there was this kindred fascination for the kids who were forced to stay in the fringes because we weren't like everyone else. Kids like Garrett who were head-strong and knew better than to cave and join the ranks. Kids like me who were too afraid to choose either way.

When, I looked at my old year book, I found a photo of Garrett. It wasn't hard to find him there.

I didn't find my photo anywhere.

Here's to Garrett. He will be remembered.