Tanner

For my friend, from Mozart.

It was an August morning in 2006, my 6th grade year. The school bus dropped me off at Summit View Elementary in Colorado. I walked across the playground and saw some friends were playing basketball on the outdoor courts before school started (something we often did). I noticed there was a kid in the mix I had never seen before, and he was good. I thought I knew everyone since I had been at the school since kindergarten.

I dropped my backpack and jumped in. This will come as no surprise to anyone who knows me, but I am not good at basketball. That morning, though, I heaved up a couple of Hail Mary shots and both swished.

The new kid looked at me and said, “Wow, great shots. What’s your name?”

I don’t know why, but I told him, “They call me Mozart because I am the best player.” (he and I knew that was not true, but we laughed and joked about it every morning we played basketball from there on out). Tanner also never stopped calling me Mozart, on and off the court.

I do not remember a moment that year when Tanner and I became best friends. It does not feel like there was one. It feels more like we always were.

The next year, the universe made sure we stayed together. On the first day of middle school, I walked up to the front grass where teachers were holding signs for their homerooms. I found my homeroom, and there was Tanner, already there, assigned to the same one. We spent those next two years side by side, which only deepened our bond.

8th grade, 2008

High school was where we grew into young men together: walking around the neighborhood, playing sports, going to school dances, or just hanging out at each other’s houses. High school is also where we took the most photos together. We loved looking at them and sending each other various ones over the years to reflect on how fun it all was.

During that period, I also learned that Tanner was someone who showed up when it mattered most. During my junior year, I was going through a breakup. Tanner did not hesitate. He told me he was picking me up, and we were going to Cold Stone for some ice cream. He and his dad, Bret, took care of me, checking in on me and making sure I didn’t feel alone.

College is where we laughed the most. At CU Boulder, we would spend most nights together when he wasn’t playing football. We would seek out the best place to eat dinner (Sewall Hall ended up being our favorite). Afterwards, Tanner would come hang out in my dorm room with my roommate, Austin. We would play Nintendo 64, stack Pringles cans on Austin’s head, anything just to keep laughing.

When I transferred to UT Austin, against the odds, our relationship did not change. If anything, it felt like we picked right back up every time I visited home. In 2016, Tanner and Bret even came down to Austin for a game. From the stadium to 6th Street, we laughed nonstop. Crying, gasping for air, the kind of laughter you don’t forget.

Austin, 2016

It was never hard to laugh with Tanner. Once he got you going, he’d fire off one-liner after one-liner until you were in stitches. His favorite was when he could get you breathless from laughing.

Behind all of that laughter, though, Tanner carried pain. Sometimes he let you see a little of it. More often, he kept it tucked away, as if he did not want it to become anyone else’s burden. I cannot say I ever fully understood what he was carrying. I just knew it was there, quietly sitting behind so much of who he was. And maybe that is part of why his light felt so real. The laughter was never shallow. It was generous. He gave it to other people even when he was carrying things of his own.

But when I think of Tanner, that pain is not what defines him to me. I think of the kid on the basketball court who called me Mozart. I think of the laughter, the late nights, the way he showed up when I needed him. The way he defined the majority of my life.

Tanner was someone who made life lighter just by being in it. And I will carry that with me forever.

I love you, Tanner.

— Mozart