Flute Boy Doug fell out the window and died last Tuesday, and I was drinking milk. He was the kind of person that couldn't pronounce salmon the right way, and said museum, muse-ay-um. Doug was my best friend and I hated him. Doug was my closest confidant and all I told him were lies. No one understands, but Doug was exactly the kind of person that fell out of windows. We had band class together. He played the flute. What kind of boy plays the flute? The Doug kind I guess, the kind that doesn't know blowing flutes is like the dirty kind of other blowing. We had band class and every time Mr. Harlow called Doug's name during attendance, he never responded. He would sit in the front row with his music stand up, tuning his flute, listening to himself play a G note, until the kid next to him elbowed him in the ribs. That was exactly who he was, the boy that played a flute and never listened during attendance. Maybe that doesn't mean anything to you, but to me that means the world. Doug fell out the window last Tuesday thinking I was his best friend in the whole world, and all I did was sit at the kitchen table and drink milk.