I met Annie Moore in September 1966, during orientation for 7th grade at Emerson Junior High School. Her locker was two or three down from mine, and she was the only one in the hallway. As I walked up to my locker, she looked at me and asked, “Do you know how to get these things to work?” I replied that this was my first time trying, so we had to figure it out together.
From there on, the bond was special, even though we never had any classes together. Whenever we saw each other at the lockers, we would greet and smile, like the memory was a comfort. I went to the same school for only a year and a half of a second year after a semester break.
I do remember that Annie was quiet, and that she liked to draw.
But my most indelible memory I have of Annie was the night I had dinner with her family and slept over. After turning out the light and settling in, Annie asked me about my faith, and what I felt about life and death. She listened so intently, and then became silent, pensive. I felt she was looking into my soul and taking it in, without judgement but with care. No one had ever touched me or allowed me to touch them in that way before, and few after have. Our times together were so brief, but I have that one night indelibly written on my heart and have read it often throughout the years.
I wish there had been more, Annie, but you are one of those people who have taught me that even short moments of time can deeply influence another person, and it has made me a better and more confident person, myself. I love you and miss you.