550 Words A Day Challenge: These Moments, Forgotten

     Part XV ---


     I would like to tell you a story from not long ago, when the sun was still bright and the days were at a pace worth remembering. The afternoon was a Thursday and I was on my way to the nearby supermarket for some sliced ham when a tremendous groan stopped my journey. I looked and saw a disheveled, hungry man with tangled hair, clothes stained with wine and lighter fluid, front teeth aspiring to be on a milk carton and a smell that would push rotten cheese into another career. My first instinct was to pass by this disgusting fellow and erase him from any recollection, but my second glance sparked a flame of familiarity with the stranger. I was certain his name was John Campolis, a boy I had gone to Junior High with and had been the most stellar student there.
     He pulled out something that I realized was a taco, crushed and discoloured by the tight confines of his pants pocket. As he took slow, deliberate bites of his precious dinner I decided to introduce myself. John had been such a standout at school that I wanted to know what he was doing here, and how real his situation was.

    'John? John, is that you? It's Will Arigan, from Kendry Jessum!'

    John did not respond to me, instead continuing to consume his watery taco. I looked into his face and remembered the one Chess Club meeting I had ever attended at school. John was the president of the club and chose to face me first, as the newcomer. Within five minutes I had achieved eternal fame among Chess nerds as the dude who was checkmated in less than fifteen moves. I remember feeling ashamed but the Chess nerds were actually quite forgiving of my inexperience. By the end of the evening we had eaten many chocolate bars and discussed several Star Trek: The Next Generation episodes that I still defend to this day. John was a huge defender of the episode "Times Arrow", which in recent years I've gained a greater appreciation for. I tried to get his attention again:

    'John! How are you? It's been so long! Remember playing chess back in Room 343? Yeah? Those were good times! Don't you, don't you remember me?'

    John again remained silent, intensely focused on the wet taco he was chewing and the who-knows-what he was fiddling with under his shirt. For a moment he looked in my eyes and there was recognition: a faint memory of who he was breaking through all the burdens and misfortunes to briefly meet me in the eye. John said no words but the sadness in the edges of his eyes told more than anecdotes ever could.
    He was a young man of incredible potential, of such academic genius that I'm sure I wasn't the only one who went into high school intimidated by what he could achieve. Yet in those twelve years, between graduation and now, something or some things so cataclysmic must have happened to completely destroy him. I nodded a goodbye to him and continued onward with my life, but the thought of John lingered still. A thought of a talent so fertile but so spoiled by elements not administrators or oracles can predict.