On Winter

It was 2 a.m. Nothing good happens after 2 a.m. People say that because of stories like this. But first, a bit of context. My first French Press came from my friend Allan. He left the 25 cent sticker on it from a garage sale. One day, my roommate Nik edged his hand towards a cup. The cup, in turn, edged my glass French Press onto the floor. The floor, staunch as ever, broke my French Press. But all was right in the world the next day as I found an unused press in my grandmother's house. Until 2 a.m. a few nights later. I was fast asleep when a rhythm from outside broke in. The rhythm came from the thud of a fist on the floor. Over and over the fist slammed, and as I became aware, I heard a noise between the thuds. It was Nik's voice saying, "Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!" In less than a week, Nik broke two of my French Presses. As a good roommate and friend, I forgave him even at 2 a.m. Our friendship meant more than a few broken French Presses. It also meant enough to shell out $25 for a stainless steel press the following weekend.

Nik retold that story in front of our entire Junior & Senior college class one night. I'll never forget the sound of those thuds and the faint, pathetic sighs of my friend Nik repeating how stupid he was to break another French Press. He really isn't stupid. Just the opposite, in fact. When I asked for prompts on the Essay A Day Challenge, someone suggested telling what it was like to live with Nik for three years of college. So, that is what I will do.

At this point, you would never know that I just deleted about three paragraphs of essay. Why? Because after trying to tell what it was like to live with Nik, nothing I said truly named the experience. Nik went from being a name of some homeschooled kid on Facebook to my Roommate. He went from being the smartest guy in our Freshman class to a fellow lover of stories. Our love for stories made the magical jump to the love of a Friend. I bought him a cigar on his 21st birthday. I got to see him fall in love with his wife. I stood by he and Christa on their wedding day. He stood next to me on mine. I even shaved his hairy back one time.

It is day six of my writing challenge, and the joy of Friendship summarizes three essays so far. But, when it comes to my friend Nikolai Winter Ellison, I do not think I can do justice to him in just an essay. What is it like to have a friend like Nik? It's like the thud of a fist on the floor at 2 a.m. You are not sure what is happening when it happens, but once you catch on, you realize that all the things people say like, "Nothing good happens after 2 a.m.," just don't do justice the memory of the people you'd happily wake up at 2 a.m. for.

-HGM