Leave the top down, Derick.

Eighth grade was weird. Our junior high had burned down the first week of seventh grade. We had been in temporary classrooms for that entire year but moved to new temporary classrooms the following year so they could officially re-build. The new classrooms were in the traditionally stand-alone 9th grade school. Going to Carver High School was something the kids in my hometown looked forward to. And so the presence of pesky 8th graders crammed into their space, was not something the ninth graders were thrilled about. At all. We learned quickly to stay out of their way as much as possible, we owed them that much. And so it was that my little gang would gather during lunch on the steps, eating, laughing, talking about our day and at least for my part, avoiding the bathrooms because one of those 9th graders intimidated the heck out of me.

Seriously, we loved every minute of that year. (Ok, maybe not the whole avoid-going-to-the-bathroom stuff but everything else. Everything.) And the beauty...when 9th grade began and we had the whole campus to ourselves (Still so sorry Class of 1985!), our hang out spot was established.

He wrote across the whole page....but can you see the concrete steps??

And so it would be on those steps that Derick and I hatched our plan for 10th grade. We would be driving by then and as we counted the minutes until we had the prized driver's license in our hands, we plotted how to avoid riding the school bus to Tupelo High School (for 10th-12th). I wouldn't have a car and my mom would only be able to do without it a couple days a week at most. Derick told me that was perfect, he could get his mom's car on the days I couldn't and we could car pool.

I thought it was a brilliant plan. I am however, fairly certain it was just a benevolent plan. Derick could have driven every day, I am almost positive. But he knew I would want to drive some, and yet, he did what he would spend years doing, he rescued me from having to ride the bus -- or worse, having to be dropped off at high school by a parent! (Horror of horrors.)

And so it would be that throughout high school Derick knew before anyone when I was having a bad day, a good day or just a day. He knew when I was sad or mad or in love. And on the day that he showed up in his dad's convertible with the top down, he would learn just how upset a 16 year old girl can be when she is having a bad hair day already.

Derick wore sunglasses for every picture op. Every one.

Perhaps it is most telling about our friendship that when I told him to just stop so I could walk home and let my mom take me to school, that he calmly pulled over and put the top up so my terrible very bad perm wouldn't be standing on end when we arrived in the high school parking lot.

Derick Pitts is woven into every single memory I have of my teenage years. Every single one. (I am carefully avoiding discussing the history class where Derick and I decided we could take turns napping, trusting the other with taking notes. I don't know about him, but I made the worst grade of my life that semester!)

He made the mix-tapes that are the soundtrack of those years. He would shout out to me in code every night during his radio gig and so I often went to sleep with his station in the background of my dreams.

And thankfully our friendship didn't end with high school graduation. Although Derick would not set foot where it snowed, I was fortunate to live in Arizona for a few years -- he visited there more than once. 

And of course, he was always willing to drop everything to meet me somewhere in Florida as we passed through. And it was Derick who drove from his beloved Florida with a generator for my mother when a tornado ripped through our hometown a few years ago. He never failed to drop by and give Mama Mason a hug when he was in town. 

We got to speak over FaceTime briefly last week. He told me I looked 19 still. He has been telling me that for decades. I know it is just one more example of Derick being the best friend a guy can be and encouraging my heart.

This morning Derick won the battle over stupid cancer. He is no doubt already on-air blasting 80s music for all of heaven to hear and sporting sunglasses while he does it. 

And while the world seems less colorful today, I refuse to turn down the music. I refuse to ignore the sunshine. I might even put the top down and let the wind whip my hair from top to bottom. 

I miss you already, Derick.