Our souls wear the same name tag.

"Look," he said. "Just a second," I said. The screen was filled with characters and our hands were filled with controllers. "Look up there," he said. "Just a second," I said. We were full of friendship and beer. The tickle-fights were second nature.

Days later we were sober and in his room again – "Look," he said.

I did. I saw a piece of paper the size of his palm. It was the picture of a flower I'd given him a year and a half ago. He explained that it'd been above his closet since I'd given it to him. I looked at him and remembered that summer day. I took a slice of paper into his backyard with a pencil nub and drew one of his mother's daisies. It was a spur of the moment scribble. I gave him a flower that'd never wilt and his room wore it like an award.