I remember the first time I met him. It was in a history class in sixth grade. I sat behind him and I put my feet on the back of his chair. He immediately turned around and gave me such an evil look that I took my feet down so quickly and never put them up again. I thought we would never be friends. I mean why should I try to be nice to someone who gave me such a dirty look for a minescule offense? But soon we became friends; I dont know how it happened, it just kind of did. We would go to eachother's houses everyday after school. On the weekends we would play outside until it got dark. We were best friends. We joined the same hockey team and practiced together all the time. We would use garbage cans as goals, and whenever we scored we swore we could hear the crowd going wild. I remember is laugh as we pictuered this; it was so bubbly and contageous. We always imagined going to college together and playing on the hockey team together. We were well on out way to that dream. We became the best on our hockey teams and were accepted to Boston College with scholarships for the hockey team. We had it all planned. Then I got the worst phone call of my life. He was in the hospital in critical condition, and it didnt look good. I rushed over there as soon as soon as I could, but it was too late. I had lost my best friend. And that left me where I am now.