Out of the blue, I started thinking about Lou. That rhymes, he would probably point out, and add a couple more lines to turn it into a dirty limerick. There was nothing in the world good old Lulu couldn't do, I thought at the time, from forming instantaneous limericks to punching walls to kicking everyone's ass at multiplayer games to laughing about his own expanding waistline with an ease that automatically made it okay comment on your own. He could do anything, that is, except pass physics. I recall this succinctly since Physics class was where I met him in my first year. And then again the following year when, having not cleared the year before, we met up again in Physics class. Not surprisingly, neither of us cleared the course for a second time. I recall how proud he was when he managed to convince the coordinator to let him take calculus instead of Physics and graduate, and the last time I saw him at the university, practially jumping for joy because he had finally cleared calculus and was going to graduate and go on a world tour with his parents. I remember how he would go for a furious drive whenever he was angry and how he would always end up talking to a priest when he was upset. I also recall how he would grin and say that his dad would break his legs if he ever became a priest himself. I remember insisting that I would hold on to him because he insisted on leaning out over the edge to pick out flowers. It all came so easy to him. He could do anything. Except, of course, pass physics.

So I suppose it's no surprise that when I took physics for the third time (in the same classroom where I had last taken physics with Lou), my mind would turn now and then to that corner seat. I like to think he was watching and laughing at me for being stuck in Physics again. Anyhow, I did it at last. You don't have to watch over us now, Lou. We'll all be okay. How do I know? Because yesterday, I got a B in Physics and I can move on now.

Goodbye, Lulu. We all still miss you and love you.