You never truly appreciate what you have until it’s gone — something I learned too late. On Feb. 6, 2026, this world lost a beautiful light. Evan Matthew Gingo was the ray of sun peeking through your blinds after a thunderstorm. The warmth you felt when your feet sank into white sand. His beautiful smile would light up any room, especially junior-year history class when everyone was bored out of their minds. I remember the way he bounced down the halls with his soccer bag on, acknowledging almost everyone who walked by. You would hear his contagious laugh from center court and think, “Well, at least I know where Evan is.” Now, there’s a hole in my heart he once occupied.
I became close to Evan a couple of years ago. It started with small talk between periods and spiraled into my phone blowing up during class with Instagram reels. I would silence my phone and beg him to stop, but he never would.
In September 2024, I was in a serious accident, leading to nearly a month out of school and countless hospital trips. I remember him saying he was going to “spork” me — even though he wasn’t in Sporks — and I told him he couldn’t unless he broke into my house. I jokingly asked him to bring me Dunkin, and he showed up with four different drinks for me to try. He sat with me in my rental hospital bed and fired off jokes over and over again. I remember pleading with him to stop because my ribs were broken and it hurt to laugh, but that wasn’t who he was. He made sure I had a smile on my face throughout my months of recovery, and after that, we became best friends.
He was always nervous to be around my friends, but wherever I went, I made it known he was always welcome. We talked about college and where we saw ourselves 10 years from now. I always pictured him ending up on “Saturday Night Live.” He would have made millions around the world fall out of their chairs laughing.
Trips to Dunkin became a daily occurrence for me after I found out he worked there. I would go when I could drive to school and after spending the night with a friend. He told me he was working his way up to manager, and I was so proud of his dedication at such a young age. The second I walked in, I would shout his name, and he would peek his head out from behind the counter, saying, “Oh no, not again.”
He knew my order by heart. The only change was how many hash browns I wanted that day. As I waited for my order, he would sing overplayed radio songs, and I would laugh at the way his voice cracked on every note. When everything was ready, he would crush my bag into a ball, making sure all my hash browns were smushed. I still remember the day my card declined and how much I got laughed at for that one.
The last time I saw him at Dunkin, I was in a rush to get to work. The line was long, but he noticed me the second I walked in and already had me rung up by the time I reached the counter. He made fun of my outfit, like always, and I told him I’d be back in a few weeks. Never did I think that day would be the last time I got to hear his voice. I wish I had looked at his face a little longer, given him a hug and told him I loved him when I had the chance. I wish I had taken more pictures with him and gone to more of his soccer games. I wish I had introduced him to my family and taken him skiing with me. There is so much I wish for, but I can’t change the way life plays out — even though I would in a heartbeat.
To me, Evan was the definition of a good friend, an amazing son and brother, and a loving boyfriend. His name will forever echo in my veins, and I wait for him to visit my dreams at night. He was beautiful in every single way, and I will always honor his legacy. Though this is an excruciating time for everyone whose life was touched by Evan, he would want you to keep laughing and live every day to the fullest. Tell your people you love them. Show up for them in every way possible.
And to Evan, I love you forever and always. I’ll be waiting in line for you. Don’t close without me.
