Wear Your Helmet

Had a strange encounter at the mall the other day. I was Christmas shopping for my lovely bride. I'm familiar with some of the rules of big cities--when random people try to hand you something, don't take it. I'm not familiar with any of the rules of malls. That's why every time I go to one of these leftover staples of the mid-eighties I get caught talking to random foreign people I can barely understand. This trip was no different. After dropping more than I probably should on Michael Chabon books (he's an author you should all read, love, and cherish by the way), I was still in a food court induced haze as I made my way to a yet to be determined store.

Before I had a firm grasp as to what was going on, a large Mexican man and his Portuguese sidekick were trying to convince me to buy $4 candy canes to support children. I think his children. They were in his van outside. Suffice it to say this little stand (presumably operating without a permit) did not take plastic. I told them man I couldn't help him. He persisted. I told him I had no cash. He said that's okay. I asked him how it could possibly be okay, when the only payment he accepted is cash? He then put a candy cane in each of his hands, and he pushed his hands out to the side like Clint Eastwood back when he had No Name. He then said, "Come on. Everybody loves candy," with a slight dash of erotic glee. It was at this time two friends of mine mercifully freed me from this conversation.

While talking to the two people I know, I couldn't help but notice someone who looked eerily like someone I graduated high school with standing behind them. This person, whom I shall name Jeremy, I had not seen since my literal graduation day.

A little about Jeremy:

1) I first met Jeremy in seventh grade. We had Industrial Technology together. I remembered Jeremy because he was the first Mexican person I ever met, he liked to tell stories where he played some sort of heroic role, and he loved the fact his mom got a new position at the Toys R Us that opened that year. We didn't know each other before junior high, but due to alphabetical seating assignments we sat by each other the entire trimester. We then sat by each other during the following Home Economics trimester where he was present when I made a "Class of 2000" bright blue sweatshirt that made my plump ass look like a blueberry.

2) Once again, due to alphabetic seating, I sat by Jeremy for the entire first semester of a random English class in high school. I don't remember which class--which is very unusual. I know Ms. Kimball taught it. She was a great teacher. At this point, four years after initially meeting, Jeremy now worked at Toys R Us, rode motorcycles and sexed the random women who come along with that hobby. Jeremy and I sat by a large woman who was either a year older or younger than the two of us. She loved us. It was one of those random sets of classmates that just seemed to work. None of us had anything in common except for the fact a random computer generated us similar schedules. At the end of the semester the large woman insisted that Jeremy and I take a picture with her. Somewhere out there a person who I don't know has a picture of me with someone who doesn't know me.

3) At graduation, Jeremy sat in the row behind me, one spot over. We joked around about English, motorcycles, and the fact neither of us knew what the hell was going on with the rest of our lives. It was the insignificant small talk between two people that were cordial but knew this was it for them. There would be no more alphabetic pressures to relate.

4) After graduating college, I accepted a job with Target where I supervised a team of warehouse workers. One of my euphemistically titled "Team Members" was named David. David had married a woman I graduated with named Kara. I was friends with Kara around the time I wore sweatshirts that made me look like blueberries. I think she even came to my "veg out and play videogames" party at the end of eighth grade. Then again, so did another former classmate who got arrested for harboring what state officials called, "the most elaborate marijuana plantation in the history of Iowa," so clearly I hadn't ironed out how to make friends just yet. When David discovered I once knew his wife, he started to give me updates on random people from my past. David is a very energetic guy, obnoxiously so. One day he came into work looking like he'd spent the previous night crying. He eventually told me that his "good friend, Jeremy--who graduated with you and Kara got into a real bad motorcycle accident this past week. We were actually going to meet up later that night and ride, but on an overpass he lost control of his bike, crashed into the side of a bridge, and got thrown to the cement below. Every bone in his body is broken. The doctors say he might not even make it through the weekend."

David would continue to give me weekly updates on Jeremy's status. After about three to four weeks it looked like he was going to live, but no one was sure if he'd ever be able to walk again. No one knew if he'd be able to be Jeremy again. No one knew anything. David mentioned he and some of Jeremy's buddies were going to hold a fundraiser for Jeremy, since Jeremy was broke. I don't know what happened with the fundraiser. I don't think it happened. David eventually took a job with another company, and I lost track of him and stopped hearing any further stories about Jeremy.

This brings us to the other night at the mall. While I spoke with my two friends, I noticed Jeremy in the background. Jeremy noticed me too. His face kept squishing together. It was the look of someone who was trying to remember where they knew someone from.

By all accounts, Jeremy looked good. If I hadn't known he was violently thrown from a motorcycle three years prior, I wouldn't have been able to tell by looking at him. He stood with the same awkward slouch he always stood with. His face had no noticeable scars and save for a puffy soul patch, looked how I would have expected it to look nine years after high school. I turned away from Jeremy to talk with my two friends, and when they left Jeremy was no longer standing there.

Later that night when standing in line at Victoria's Secret, I noticed Jeremy again. He continued to squish his face together. He looked right at me for about ninety seconds while his face tried to remember me.

Why did I let it go ninety seconds before finally asking, "Random question for you...are you Jeremy?" I don't know. That's what people from Cedar Falls do. We see someone we went to high school with, and we feel them out for a bit before admitting we know each other. It's the awkward, ten years past high school version of canine anal sniffing. For instance one of my good friends ex-girlfriend's works at the Home Depot down the street from me. We really didn't know each other at all. We have a slight recollection of each other, but we've never said one thing to the other. But I knew Jeremy. We weren't close friends by any stretch of the imagination, but we got along and could pass 48 minutes of conversation without a problem.

So...ninety seconds of staring later, I interrupted his face-making and asked, "Random question for you...are you Jeremy?" He seemed completely taken aback by the fact the person he'd been staring at approached him for conversation. He looked around, and said, "Yeah..." trailing off, mistrusting. I told him, "You probably don't remember me, but I'm Jay Schmitz. We went to high school together."

Nothing. He stared at me. I have no problem with someone from high school not remembering me. Some people put way too much stock into three years of friendships based on geographical coincidence and think some lifelong bond should be formed. It shouldn't. That said, I remember a lot of people. I remember more than most because my brain likes to remember the insignificant minutiae of my life. I remembered Jeremy. And by all accounts, he should have remembered me. I saw it on his face both times I encountered him that night. He looked at me, and somewhere some part of him tried to figure out who the hell I was.

After a strange what-felt-like-forever moment, he said, "I don't remember any of high school. I got in a bad motorcycle accident three years ago."

I interrupted. I don't know why. "Yeah. I'd heard about that."

"Basically I flew off a bridge and the bike didn't. I broke every bone in my body. I've been living out of hospitals ever since. It's been a long road."

I said, "You look great. I remember David told me about yo..."

"Who?"

"David. He told me he was one of your close friends. He rode with you a lot. Kara's husband."

"I know Kara. I can never remember her husband's name though. They have kids don't they?"

"Yeah. Three of them last I knew."

He then grimaced. It was a strange combination of frustration, fear, and regret. He knew he should know what I was talking about. He couldn't even remember the names of one of his best friends. The look absolutely broke my heart. There's not a person in this world I'd wish that fate upon. He's spent three years trying to rebuild his physical shell, while his brain just did not connect to itself. I'm not a scientist, so forgive me if this makes no sense, but it's as if different parts of his brain held different puzzle pieces. A puzzle piece by itself is useless.

It was my turn to check out. I said, "I hope you continue to get better. I'm amazed at how great you look know."

He said, "It hasn't been fun."

When I turned around after paying, Jeremy was gone. He didn't say goodbye. I don't think he knew that you're supposed to. It was great to see him. His accident is how some people kill themselves, so it's amazing to see him alive and able to walk.

Later that night I started thinking about what David told me about the accident. It was a normal night. Jeremy rode over a bridge he'd rode over one hundred times before. This time something happened. No one knows what. He left home that night thinking he'd come home that night. He didn't come home for over a year.