Where Are You, Wesley Downs?

He almost always sat next to me in class because I followed him alphabetically. In high school, he and about six other brainy guys saved my ass in AP Calculus. It took a village. Wes was pure-T-odd-ball. Even though he was brilliant at math, his passion was a story he continually worked on, a handwritten, illustrated manuscript called “The WesCon Delta,” a story of a kid named Wes who, after the destruction of earth, was the only surviving human and was trying to make his way alone in the galaxy. Even then, I knew it was a sad thing for a teenager to write about. He gave me his book to read once, which I’m pretty sure I pretended to do. I was nice to him, but not too nice. One day he gave a beautifully drawn picture of a cross on a hillside in a sunset. I Googled his name last night and found nothing. I don’t know what made me think of Wes, but now I can’t stop wondering what happened to him.


By the way, I think these guys are slackers.

And here's a lovely gift idea for the clergy-people on your Christmas list.