The first time we met, we were in diapers. The next few months, we stared, made faces, screamed, and drooled. We lived two floors apart in the same building, and our older brothers were friends, so by default, we became each other's playdates and began an extraordinary friendship. Cassie wasn't like other girls, concerned with sparkle and frills. She had a vivid imagination and  dressed in bright hues that screamed, "Here I am." She was also independent and marched to her own beat, which in her case meant she was attracted to all excitement and things that maybe weren't the best fit for a little girl. 

In pre-school, Cassie followed me into the bathroom and locked the door, utterly unphased that she had just broken rule number one on the "expected behavior" list. She then turned off the lights and unintentionally traumatized the hell out of my wimpy and anxious two-and-half-year-old self. She wanted to see how long the teachers would take to notice we were missing. Fifteen years later, I have claustrophobia nightmares. But Cassie was in the bathroom, laughing in the dark for what felt like hours, as if it was the best time ever, though the teachers didn't think so. 

In fourth grade, Cassie fell off a jungle gym and broke her forearm in two places. I was upside down, and she would scream, "Click, Catch me as they do in Cirque du Soleil." Needless to say, once Cassie and her limp arm were well on their way to the ER, the teacher pulled our parents aside and told them we were irresponsible, reckless, and had too wild an energy, but as I saw it, we were just kids sitting too long in a boring classroom. 

We missed recess twice a week because we both failed our fine motor skills test and had to go to Occupational Therapy to practice writing and typing. She'd waste the entire period mimicking me as I attempted to type. Under her breath, she'd whisper, "Click-Click-Click… Click-Click-Click… Click-Click-Click". She knew I was easily distracted, but testing how long I could resist her pestering was a game that gave her a purpose in the session. I wished sometimes she would chill and do the assignment so I wouldn't have to hyper-focus on my fingers tapping the keyboards, which sounded much like those of an old typewriter. Once the screams of recess would end and the students slammed their locker doors, she'd get up, say, "Hey Click, I'm going to get you next time," flash a smile, and be on her way. She'd ironically given me the nickname Click for my typing inabilities. Were it anyone else, I'd lose my patience, but there was a permissiveness on my part with Cassie that allowed her to push well into my usual boundaries. 

I admired Cassie’s vibrancy and carefree recklessness, perhaps because I never allowed myself that kind of freedom. I'm more reserved and calculated, which is probably why we connected on a level neither truly understood. In grade school, boys hung with boys, and girls hung with girls, and if boys hung with girls, they were a couple, which we never were. We both had independent friends, but we always seemed to return to each other when needed, just like a brother and sister. There was never any sexual tension between us, which is a good thing and maybe a reason why we connected on the level we did.  

As with many relationships, ours got complicated. When we entered middle and high school, our social circles evolved, and our personal goals changed. I started focusing more on academics and photography and made new friendships along that path, while Cassie chose the opposite direction. She was never much interested in studying but was an incredible artist, very skilled at drawing, and would decorate her Converse All-Stars with doodles of elaborate flowers, creepy bugs, or silhouettes of puppies. I thought art was a given. But Cassie lived by her own rules, was drawn to unrest, and, like a moth, she flew into the fire when she became involved with a group of kids that were not good for her. 

We didn't drift apart, but we definitely spent less time together. Cassie would text me late at night asking me to join her on our bench in front of the school or on our roof deck, and I knew that things had taken a wrong turn once she started calling me by my first name, Camron. She was suffering from deep depression, and drugs and alcohol fueled her nights. Cassie wasn't eating and lost weight. She stopped attending school and dressed in all black; her vibrancy faded with her will to live. She would tell me how painful life was, how she felt lost and tried to harm herself. I knew I couldn't help. She needed help, but no one could tell her what to do. Then one day, she was gone. She didn't die; she just physically disappeared. No texts, no phone calls. My, and everyone else's, connection to Cassie was gone. 

Rumors swirled at school; "Did she try to kill herself?", "Do you know where she is?" "Is she ever coming back?", "Where is she?", "How do you not know?". Weeks turned into months, then years of me fending off questions about Cassie as if I were her keeper. I knew where she was and what had happened, but I swore to her mother I'd keep my mouth shut. She tearfully told me the story of the morning the women from the residential treatment center removed Cassie from home without warning. They would help Cassie address issues she'd avoided for years; she was in Montana, and it would be years of no contact. Cassie had requested that her mom give that message to me and only me. No one else was to know, and it would be up to Cassie to reveal her story if and when she returned home. So, for years, I kept it to myself. 

I'm sitting on the bench in front of the school today, the bench I last saw Cassie and the same bench from where we would eat pints of ice cream as kids. As I stare at the room window where Cassie and I had Occupational Therapy, I'm overwhelmed by memories of us and the sound of my fingers clicking on that keyboard, convinced she wouldn't get to me. But she has. 

It's been two years since Cassie left, and though I think about her less regularly and moved forward as any teenager my age would, I have been wondering about her lately. So, when her mother told me that Cassie was coming home for a few days and wanted to see me, it caught me off guard. A part of me didn't want to see her, as her abrupt disappearance affected me more than I thought it would. What if her demons were still winning? What if she wasn't the Cassie I wanted her to be? But then again, what if she was? Caught in my what-if brain churn, I didn't notice the pair of Converse low tops with elaborate doodles appear to the side of mine, and then she sat on the bench. "Hey Click... Click-Click-Click." 

That was all I had to hear, and I knew we'd be just fine.