On a random Monday, in between the two classes we shared (Econometrics and Matrix Algebra), Zach and I were eating at Subway, a weekly ritual. It was an uncharacteristically warm day for mid-Spring (minus the occasional breeze). We were eating outside and I would shiver every once in a while. Zach would make fun of me, citing my LA roots.

Collectively, we realized this was no day for Matrix Algebra, where we would be forced to listen to the ramblings and mistakes of Steve Krantz. Instead, Zach mentioned how he had recently gone to the museum in Forest Park and how he had seen all this cool ancient armor on display. Given he had just been there, we opted instead to walk to the Kemper art museum on campus, where we spent the next half hour or so looking at African Modernist paintings.

Leaving the museum, we had some time to spare, so we instinctively walked over to Parkside Café, a common residence for Ethan Snyder, who would undoubtedly provide us with some entertainment. After harassing him for a few minutes, I mentioned how I had recently received a record player, so Zach happily joined me to walk to the Loop to the record store there.

On our way there, we talked about the meaning of death, as I had just received news that my grandmother was in critical condition. We spoke about the pain of losing loved ones and how to properly honor them. He was the person I felt most comfortable talking to about such a sensitive topic; when we would talk about something serious, I was always struck by his thoughtfulness and wisdom.

At the record store, we pivoted to music. He found a Houndmouth record and expressed that it was his favorite. All that he was missing was the record player. We took our time, talking about different albums, venturing into random sections, and every so often he or I would crack a joke, and I’d see Zach’s iconic side smile.

Every moment with Zach was priceless. Whenever we spent time together, there would be some form of adventure, and we would be together for hours. Zach is the kind of person you are incapable of getting sick of, someone who brings a fresh story or idea to every conversation, someone you can lose track of time with. Most importantly, he was an expert at injecting humor into any situation. He would use some ridiculously complex word, point out some absurdity, or maybe offer you a piece of gum, which became a joke in itself.

Zach was someone I saw a lifetime of friendship with. He’s someone I trusted with absolutely anything, and he was wise beyond his years. He was the greatest reminder of what’s most important in life – doing what you care about. Everything he did was with such purpose and passion. He always would talk about how much he enjoyed his economics class because he was learning a lot. He understood the material, which mattered more to him than the grade he received. He would talk about how incredible his friends are and how he loves spending time with them. He would talk about tutoring at a local school and the importance of education.

Zach was my best friend, and I will miss him endlessly. Even though the thought of him no longer being here brings me to tears, I can’t help but smile when I remember our time together.

Here’s my favorite photo from our excursion to the art museum: