Please allow me to take a trip down my own memory lane.

Eight years ago, when I was much younger, I briefly dated a guy named Mike. Mike was a sweet guy, very smart, good looking, and generally fun to be around. Our relationship ended when he went back with his ex, a very pretty, but horrifyingly immature drug addict named Scott. They had "history."

Amid all the anger I have felt concerning Mike and Scott, above all I have a fond memory. In fact, it's the fondest memory of the most perfect kiss I've ever had.

Mike and I are very short men, both within a quarter inch of 5'6". This perfect kiss took place outside, on a paved trail in a wooded area on the campus of the University of Washington. It was raining and we were both soaked. Because we are the same height there was no painful neck craning, no too-tall or too-short to worry about. There was just Mike, and a tight embrace, and the cold rainwater running off our faces and into our mouths. For the very first time I lost all fear of kissing another man in public. It was perfect.

A few days ago, I learned that Mike committed suicide in early 2004. I had always assumed that one day Mike and I would reconnect, apologize, make up, and become friends again. Instead I've been completely shocked and overwhelmed. There are so many things I need to say to him, so many things he needs to know about his influence on me becoming the man I am now. So many things that just echo in my head. I know that one day, somehow, I'll get the message to him.

I also know that when I think of Mike, the very first and very last memory I will think of, is the memory of this most perfect kiss.