the tide

When I was in the seventh grade, I had a friend named Joe. At least, I think his name was Joe; it's been a long time. And to be fair, I don't quite think that "friend" is the proper label for our relationship. 

In all actuality, we were mere acquaintances who formed a quasi-friendship out of necessity and convenience. We were in the same gym class—a gym class that was populated quite heavily with sweaty 13-year-old jocks with quickly developing superiority complexes and tiny cheerleader girls who were already learning the fine art of cattiness and manipulation. My middle school housed nearly every pubescent stereotype in existence.

Joe was not a jock, and I was not a tiny cheerleader girl. So we stuck together. 

We didn't interact much outside of gym class, and after the school year was over, he moved away.

Several months later, I found out through MySpace (yes, this was still in the days of MySpace) that he had an aggressive form of cancer.

Today I found myself wondering what happened to Joe. 

And then I thought about all the Joes there have been in my life. The people who were once important in some way—even if it was just to help me make it through middle school P.E.—who disappeared after a short while and whose life and futures are completely ambiguous to me. People who I once knew and trusted and confided in who now wouldn't stop to talk to me if we saw each other at the grocery store. People I wouldn't stop to talk to at the grocery store. 

People flow in and out of your life as regularly as the tide laps against the shore. Some stay forever. Some stay for years. Some only stay for a short season. And I guess that in some cases, we'll never know the fate of the Joes in our lives. And that's sad. 

But I guess that's life. 

And the fact that that's sometimes what life means is even sadder.