friends.
Dinosaurs made it permanent.
Noah knew an unreasonable amount about them.
He could tell you what they ate, where they lived, and which one would win in a fight.
I liked drawing them.
Badly.
The first time I showed him my Tyrannosaurus rex, he studied the page for several seconds.
“What is that?”
“A T. rex.”
“It looks like a potato with arms.”
I shoved him.
He laughed so loudly our teacher separated us.
Noah had Down syndrome.
At six, that mattered to me far less than the fact that he cheated at dinosaur trivia by memorizing the answers before asking me the questions.
Our friendship was simple.
Then another child made it complicated.
One afternoon, our teacher announced she was getting married.
The entire class exploded with opinions.
Chocolate cake.
Vanilla cake.
Flowers.
Music.
One kid insisted weddings needed trampolines.
Noah raised his hand.
“My wedding will have
