Jacob Smith

Sitting behind the pale, bald, loud kid in Tenth Grade Honors English, I had only two thoughts. Either this guy's got cancer or he's a white supremacist. As the class went around, standing in their seats and introducing themselves, it came to his turn. He stood, and surveyed the room with a royal tenacity, before stating he was not a white supremacist.

Actually, I think he said something more along the lines of "I'm Jake Smith..." and he has Stage Four (the final degree of cancer and hence, the most dangerous) Rhabdomyosarcoma (some sort of muscle cancer) and that's why he had a peach fuzz haircut. Sitting down to huzzahs and good cheers around the room, I arose a bit flustered. How does one follow up a guy bravely battling a deadly disease and impress the predominately female class? I looked down to Jake, good-naturedly, and said I was born with nerve cancer and had beat it as an infant. I nodded to Jake, upon establishing eye contact to let him know, I had every confidence he would as easily defeat this monster we call cancer.

Before looking in his eyes, my intentions were less than noble. I had to form a political alliance with this kid if I wanted to stay afloat of his soon-to-come female attentions. He was a handsome fellow alongside being charisma incarnate and needed no help from his courageous story. But as I looked into Jake's eyes and conveyed my belief in him, I meant it totally and completely. As I looked into Jake's eyes, I saw a friend who would always love me and never judge me, until the end of time. I felt as if God had smacked me in the back of the head and said, "This guy's gonna be your best friend now, and you're lucky to have him."

We were all very lucky to have him. When he was diagnosed with cancer, they gave Jake three months to live. He fought, without breaking a sweat, for two years. If you didn't know him, you wouldn't have known he had cancer. He never let it slow him down.

The week before he died, we were told he was on the road to a full recovery. I don't know about the other guys, but I never realized Jake was dead until we carried his casket down the aisle of the church. As we marched to the hearse that would carry Jake to his grave, I cried with every ounce of my body. I finally realized that the man I had counted as my best friend for the two years I knew him, was gone forever.

But then I saw how dumb that was. That wasn't the case at all. My memories with Jake weren't going anywhere. The days we spent arguing fantasy historical battles between the Britons and the Mongols will make me smile no matter the day. The friends Jake introduced me to, the one's that knew him most of his life, had welcomed me into the tribe as one of their own. I would be hard put to find a truer, more loyal group of friends in all the world.

And Jake himself, never left. Since his death, he's graduated high school, attended several different colleges, and met a million amazing people. He's regretted a hundred mistakes and celebrated just as many successes. And he'll keep on experiencing life, through us, the ones who carry his memory and spirit.

-Harrison Cross