When I moved here in the third grade the first person I met was Andrew Conley. He was obsessed with Star Trek. We used to argue for hours about whether the aliens were real or not. I mean, even in the third grade I knew it was only television. And it was repeats! I told him it happened years ago anyway so even if it was real it didn't matter because all those aliens must be dead by now. And he'd say, you've got brains, but you don't know everything. Then one day—maybe in the seventh grade—Andrew was sent home because he wouldn't take off his hat. He said he was growing antennae and he didn't want the teacher to see. He said she wouldn't understand. So the next day he came to school and I said, where are the antennae? Huh? And he said they're there. But now they're invisible. And I said, well, I should be able to feel them, right? Maybe they're invisible, but I should be able to feel them... So he took my hand. And he put it over his head. And there was something there. I have to remember that. I have to remember that every day. Something can be invisible but that doesn't mean it isn't there. I used to think uncertainty was the worst thing in the world. Now I think it's what keeps us looking up instead of away. Andrew—wherever you are—we'll see you soon. I'm certain.