IGNORE THIS POST

* i wrote this late at night a coupla days ago. it has gone through a couple of edits since then, but this is it in more or less original form, sans edits.

Dear DAC,

I will spend part of the second anniversary of your death in jail, getting oriented so I may teach writing to the prisoners. On Thursday you would have been exactly 20 years and 5 months old, and if nothing had happened we wouldn’t have marked the date.

In a way this is not just a 2nd anniversary. It is a 24th (a weird confluence of numbers – you were born on a 24th, died on another 24th, it’s been 24 months – things always come in threes), maybe it is a 14th – I’m not sure when I stopped counting the 24th of every month and giving a pause to reflect, not sure how many times since then I’ve stopped and thought about dates. Or counted. There was a lot of counting in the beginning.

You can still break my heart. Just as well as anyone living. I shared some of the most intimate moments with you. And you were safe and welcomed me for all of it.

I feel like I’ll always be chasing your death. Anything too close at the neck, through S&M conventions and arguments in the kink community forever. When I give my absolutes to partners, your presence will be in the list: no breath play.

Ironically you were always superbly safe for me. I may never recapture the easy intimacy we had. You really did break my heart, honey, or maybe it was me. Since your death I’ve been going over why I hadn’t the sense to kiss you & tickle you & give in. Why, why didn’t I sprint towards that smile? Because I knew it would be unfair. The answer is always the same. I had to be honest with you. I don’t know how you did it, took my rejection & allowed our friendship to survive completely without malice. That’s a rare thing indeed. I am so sorry I didn’t have better sense.

Another thing, too much to explain and impossible to ignore is (was?) your sense of honor. You were the most truly honorable man I have ever known. That alone may be the reason I write to you year after year. I wasn’t the only girl you loved – you loved us all, but it didn’t diminish the strength of your love for any of us. You knew how to appreciate the beauty of a good woman, and you thought we were all beautiful and deserved appreciating. You had a way of complimenting us that made us believe that we really were how you saw us.

And of course, you pouted and fussed like the rest of us. You had an anger management problem and a temper like a pissed off bear – but you never directed it at us. And if we stepped in to resolve a conflict, you respected our word – period. You were hilarious when drunk, because you always drank enough JD to make it impossible to stand. Even piss drunk you were respectful.

In a way, your death gave me gifts. It gave me an improved relationship with my two best friends, the only people in the world who I feel can approximate what I’ve been through. It gave something to Tina, even though I don’t know what – all’s I know is it scared the shit out of her in the beginning. You made me realize I can’t take shit. Your memory is what reminds me I deserve respect. You liked me when I was honest. Your chivalry set the highest standard. Your death gave me a healthy respect for monogamy, a la Tim (it was a direct result). Honey, I respect your parents so much. I admire your mother’s strength something fierce. If I ever have a boy, I can only hope to raise him to be half as respectful as you.

I can still feel the ghost of your body against mine. I remember your hands and forearms, your hairy belly. Your smell: sweat, dirt, detergent and faint sawdust. Your love of classical music & Gypsy Kings & System of a Down. (You ruined an album for me, you know. Toxicity will never be the same.) You hated to read aloud and I always had to be on your jeopardy team (or Boggle) in Gael’s class – remember, she gave you an A!

You shoulda seen the CAPA banquet senior year. Not a dry eye in the house. I’ve seen Jonny and Tim (and Mike and JB) cry now, you know. They renamed Tech Legend after you. And they gave it to Adam when he graduated.

I still remember the first glimpse of Jonny when he walked into that theater. Six feet of crumpling man, who’d survived so much, only to be reduced to tears by this. We just held him because it was all we could do. I was the first one he got to, and I still remember the shirt he was wearing and his hug. I didn’t want to let him go, but when I did he and Sarah just clung to each other. I think they formed their own bubble that entire week.

Your parents are so brave. And honest. And courageous. They refused to lie about you. And honey, Mama Brown . . . she loved you so much. She was a wreck. Out of the 3 “adopted” kids (Adam, Phil, you), I think she liked you the best. Even Dad was upset. I remember your walk and your whine and your whimper. You called me one day in the summer just to talk. Allsup’s chimis. Tim’s sneezes always finding you. You called us Ma’am, you called me Pepe. I remember your “do you want a backrub?” motion. My favorite memory is The Shirt. It was at the memorial service and the wake. I wanted to tell everyone, I did that. I had a part in it. See? I mattered to this life. It was how I introduced myself to your mother.

In a very weird way your death gave me respect for sexual choices. You pursued what turned you on. That simple. Left us with a lot of questions, but it made sense to you. Even that is just what it is – simple, honest, brutal, true and plain. Now as I admonish all my friends to Be Careful, Just Please Be Careful (It’s That Time of Year), I remember. I remember your parents and siblings, I remember your aunt. Colored Sharpies and the phrase “I’m an asshole” (which I hear a LOT, being in college with a bunch of assholes) make me think of you. Even now you break my heart. I love you very much.

Sarah

Honor the brave who fought.
Honor the dead who fell.
Honor the world they saved.