Give them a copy of what you said.

Hi, everyone. I’m Godfrey. Emilio and I were assigned to each other in August of 2012, room 311, third floor of the oldest dorm on campus, the one with the radiator that clanked all night. The housing office put us together at random. I have never figured out what I did to deserve that kind of luck.

I want to tell you one thing from that room, because twelve years later it is still the most accurate description of Emilio I have.

About two weeks into freshman year, I started sleeping through my alarm. Not sometimes. Every day. I had an eight o’clock chemistry lecture across campus, and I was a kid who had never once gotten himself out of bed without a parent standing in the doorway. I was late to that class four times in the first month. Then, around October, I stopped being late. I did not notice why. I assumed I had grown up.

Here is what had actually happened. Emilio had set his own alarm for eight minutes before mine. Every morning, he got up, made coffee in the little machine we were not allowed to have, and made it loudly. He opened and closed the closet. He hummed. He did this for three and a half years, and he never said a word about it. I found out in the spring of senior year, when he went home for a weekend and I slept through a midterm.

When I asked him about it, he looked embarrassed, like I had caught him at something. He said, “You seemed like you were trying.” That was all. That was the whole explanation.

That is Emilio. He notices what you need before you do, he takes care of it so quietly that you think you did it yourself, and he never collects on it. He has done that for me, for his parents, for every person at this table, for as long as any of us have known him. And for a long time, the people he did it for never quite saw it happening. I include myself in that.

Then he met Dagny. I knew something was different in about the third week, when he called me and said, in a voice I had not heard before, “She noticed the keys.” On their second date, he had moved her keys from the counter to the hook by the door, because she had mentioned losing them. She noticed. She said thank you. It was such a small thing, and he talked about it for twenty minutes, because in thirty years nobody had ever caught him in the act and thanked him for it.

Dagny, he has spent his whole life setting the alarm eight minutes early for other people. You are the first person I have seen do it for him, and more than that, you are the first person who saw him doing it. He is lighter around you. He lets you carry things. I did not think I would ever get to watch that, and I am so glad I was wrong.

So, everybody, please stand and raise a glass. To Emilio and Dagny. Eight minutes early, every morning, for the both of you.