Whatever Happened to My Third-Grade Best Friend?

I don’t remember how we became friends. Maybe it was the way he drew dragons in the margins of his math book, or the way he always offered me the red crayon even though it was his favourite.

His name was Jeremy.

Third grade was a long time ago, but Jeremy feels like a tattoo I forgot I had until someone brushes it the wrong way.

The World Before Phones and After Recess

Back then, our world was no bigger than the recess yard. We built empires out of sticks and launched conspiracies during lunch. We traded fruit roll-ups for secrets and collected punishments like trophies.

I remember once, we got sent to the principal’s office for trying to dig a tunnel to China. It wasn’t even about reaching China. It was about doing something impossible together.

Jeremy was small, fast, and had a wild imagination. He told me he could talk to ants. I believed him. He said he was going to be an astronaut. I told him I’d be his mission control.

We made promises.

To never forget each other.

To always stay friends.

To grow up but never grow apart.

Then He Moved Away.

The Vanishing.

One day, his desk was empty.

No goodbye. No forwarding address.

Just gone.

Like he had evaporated into the sky, the way dreams do right before you wake up.

I remember asking the teacher where he went. She gave me that adult look — the one that says “you’ll understand when you’re older,” even though you never really do.

I Grew Up. But I Never Let Go.

I went through high school, college, jobs, breakups, grief, therapy.

But Jeremy stayed eight years old in my mind, running barefoot in the grass, shouting plans about Mars, and drawing dragons in the margins.

Every now and then, I searched for him.

Facebook. Instagram. Nothing.

I even tried a Reddit thread once: “Whatever happened to my third-grade best friend Jeremy?” No one answered.

But I kept seeing him — in the eyes of a kid on a train drawing something on a napkin… in the voice of a student asking big questions… in the silence between adult conversations that feel too careful.

Why Do We Remember Certain People Forever?

We don’t talk about these kinds of losses enough — the small, tender ones.

The friendships that ended not in fights, but in silence.

Not because of anger, but geography.

Maybe Jeremy was my first heartbreak.

Not romantic, not tragic — just… human.

The kind of loss that doesn’t bruise but never fully fades.

Maybe He’s Reading This

Jeremy, if you’re out there — I still have that crayon drawing you gave me.

You said it was a dragon, but I always thought it looked like a phoenix.

Maybe it was both.

And Here’s What I’ve Learned

Friendship isn’t just about being together.

It’s about carrying pieces of each other, no matter the miles or the years.

It’s in the laughter we remember, the quiet moments we shared, and the promises we whispered to ourselves in the dark.

Some people come into our lives to remind us what it means to believe.

To imagine.

To hold on to the magic, even when everything else feels impossible.

Jeremy taught me that.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s why I still carry him with me.

Maybe That’s What Childhood Is

A collection of small, unforgettable moments.

A map of the people who helped us dream bigger.

The ghosts of laughter in empty hallways.

Even when those people disappear, the places they built inside us never do.

And sometimes, that’s enough to keep going.