Wookie
I have known ████████ since elementary school. He was the tallest in my class, and something always seemed a bit off about him. I liked him enough to invite him to a birthday party once. At least until he catapulted chocolate pudding at the kitchen wall with his spoon, to the amusement of all the other kids, and nearly got himself kicked out of the house and barred from ever coming back by my mom.
Later, all throughout high school, we were both in the same class. We were never close, but I liked him. At least privately. He was always a bit hyperactive and nervous, and his thoughts seemed to outrun his speech, which made him stumble over words, drag one into the next, and fill the gaps with drawn-out uuuhms and strange moaning sounds, which, together with the long straight hair that fell well below his shoulders and sometimes hid his face, earned him the nickname “Wookie.” He was generally made fun of by almost everyone, usually following the lead of the class bullies. I probably took part in that to some degree, which I am not proud of, though I often felt sorry for him.
This did not keep us from maintaining a kind of distant friendship, mainly fueled by our shared interest in Battletech, other science fiction book series, and computer games. We sometimes met, half secretly, after school near the bicycle stands behind the gym to exchange books, have brief conversations about them, or share strategies for beating LucasArts point-and-click adventures like Maniac Mansion or Zak McKracken.
I sometimes regret not having had the courage to spend more time with him despite teenage peer pressure, but the need to belong and play the social game was as much of a minefield at that age as it is today. That reminds me that I still have the dark brown sheet of paper with the exit visa codes (early ’90s copy protection!) from Zak McKracken somewhere that he lent me, the one you needed to travel between places. That might be as good a hook as any to get back in touch with him.