following the light of the sun, we left the old world

I tend to throw about the phrase "best friend" a lot; I think we all do. My sisters are my best friends. My parents are my best friends. Oh, she's my best friend. He's my best friend. No way! We're best friends! etc, etc. More often than not, I actually think the label's accurate. I have a lot of wonderful people in my life, and for each of their own reasons, they fit the phrase.

But for the sake of the story, my best friend left this morning. Boarded his plane a mere fifteen minutes ago. Within the day he'll arrive in São Paolo and then onto Belém where he'll spend the next two years serving as a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. And he's going to be brilliant. But boy, I'm going to miss him.

It's funny, when I think about it. He'll only be gone as long as we've known each other. But Marcus is the sort that I feel I've known all my life, and we've packed our share of adventure into these past years. We connected over Jeeves & Wooster, Gill Sans, and Steve Jobs. We steal books off each other's shelves, swap emails with subjects like "In Event of Moon Disaster" or "RIP, Türkmenbaşy" on a daily basis. We plan Walk Trips when gas prices get too high and throw Geography Parties when there's studying to be done. At one point we spent an entire week corresponding only in Cricket terms. This weekend, he took me out for Thai and kept me laughing with his NPR impressions, nearly falling out of my chair at his spot-on Arianna Huffington (hey, I never said we were cool).

Marcus, you won't read this. Or at least not for a long, long time. But if our telepathy powers prove strong enough, you'll know what I'm trying to say: a strange combination of the embarrassing Aw shux boi uz'll b missed, a cheery Pip-pip!, and, of course, I love you. I'll see you . . . in the future! (The one with the rocket-cars.)