Mom's Spaghetti

Today I wanted to share a memory—one of the most important ones I have—about a friend from high school who recently passed away. I’ve talked about him before. With the winter weather settling in here in Los Angeles, I keep coming back to this moment, this tiny slice of my life that has stayed with me for decades.He was a junior when I was a freshman. I looked up to him more than he ever knew. He was popular, confident, the kind of person everyone gravitated toward. Meanwhile, I lived literally across the street from the school… and was still late almost every single morning. I racked up 27 homeroom tardies. I still remember the teacher looking at me, shaking her head: “How can you be late twenty-seven times when you live across the street?” A mystery that remains unsolved to this day.One December afternoon—it was freezing, snow drifting down even though we were so close to the holidays—I stayed after school with the older kids I admired. I told my friend I didn’t want to walk home alone, even though “home” was only a few steps away. Something about the cold, the darkening sky, the loneliness of being a freshman… I just didn’t want to walk by myself.When the final bell rang and it was time to leave, he didn’t just walk with me.He gathered a whole crew of people—maybe fifteen of them—to make the walk together.So there we were: me on my crutches, and this huge group of friends trailing down the snowy street, laughing, teasing each other, tossing little snowballs around. The snow fell steadily. It felt like something out of a movie—but it was my real life. And it was the first time in a long time that I felt safe, important, seen. As the kids would say today, I felt “seen” before I even knew what that meant.We got to my house, and I’ll never forget the look on my mother’s face as I walked in with fifteen friends behind me. The Christmas tree glowed in the corner, the house was warm, and my mom—being who she was—made spaghetti for everyone. All of us crowded around the dining room table, laughing, steaming plates in front of us, the whole place smelling like sauce and snow-damp jackets.It remains one of the best days of my life.Every year, when winter comes, I think of that day.And I think of him.I wanted to share that memory with you today because it’s been sitting with me, glowing quietly in my mind like that Christmas tree in our dining room.Thanks for reading. Stay warm. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit orbitdeen.substack.com