Valerie Elaine Wilkins, Where Are You?

This is November 3. It's a special day in my memory. It has been for a long time.

When I started Grade 5, I changed schools. I was the new girl in the class. The teacher paired me up with another student named Valerie. Throughout the next three years, we became best friends. In Grade 5, Valerie lived on my street, just a few houses--half a block--down the street. Then she moved three streets over. Montclair, Walkley, Prince of Wales.

We used to run home on our lunch hour, either to her house or my house. We always had the same thing for lunch. A glass of milk and cream of tomato soup with handfuls of Saltine crackers crumbled up in it. Then we'd race back to school. Three blocks to my street, then three or four blocks to the school. I think we were late lots of times. Or almost late.

When we started Grade 8, Valerie and I went to different high schools. It was the beginning of the end. In Grade 9, I moved to the suburbs. The last time I talked with Valerie was when I was in Grade 11 or 12.

November 3 is Valerie's birthday. I can picture her face the way I last saw it. I don't know where she is now. Our lives have taken us different places and there have been many years in between then and now. It was from Valerie that I first heard the phrase "retribution of justice." At that time, it was perhaps the most complicated language I had ever heard and the most profound idea I had ever come in contact with.

I still remember the great times we had together. I remember walking home from Girl Guides every Thursday night. We'd get to the corner of her street, but we weren't finished talking. So she'd walk me to my corner, but we still weren't finished talking. I'd walk her back to her corner, and maybe she'd walk me back to mine. Then we'd each have to run home before our mothers were phoning each other, worried that something might have happened to us on the way home.

I remember playing. I remember lots of laughing.

Today, I just wanted to say, "Happy Birthday, Valerie."