A sad Passover story

In the spring of my sophomore year of college, I took a class called The Art of Storytelling (it was every bit as awesome as it sounds). On the first day of class we were told to pick partners, and we would be working with them for the whole semester. I ended up partnering with a senior named Jon because neither of us knew anyone else in the class.

Over the coming weeks, Jon and I became pretty friendly and I developed a massive crush on him. I mentioned to him at one point that I was heading home to NJ for Passover, and he asked me if we ever had brisket at my seder.

Arielle: Hell yeah we have brisket.
Jon: I love brisket. If you have any extra, can you bring me back some?
Arielle: Totally. We always have leftovers.

And by that I actually meant, "Jon, if you asked me to I would go slaughter a cow right now and make you brisket myself if it meant we could make out."

We obviously had a ton of leftover seder food that year. I asked my mom if I could take some brisket back to Boston, and explained to her what it was for. She said no, because my brother wanted the leftovers for himself. Wah. I told Jon that I had returned to Tufts brisket-less. I'm pretty sure he never really expected me to bring him back some and he was definitely not too crushed about it.

After Jon graduated I didn't see him as often, but I was still reminded of him every Passover as I would eat my mom's deliciously awesome brisket.

It's been almost 2 years since a ton of us Tufts people gathered together in New Jersey for Jon's funeral. This year marked 6 years since I tried to bring him food from my seder. I still can't eat brisket without thinking of him. Only it has ceased to be a funny story and is now just a sad reminder of a friend now gone.

I will never forget how, when I was getting ready for the funeral and explaining to my mom who he was, she replied, "Wow. I wish I had given him some brisket."