She is gone

A few weeks ago I got a letter from an Olivet College student who's the editor of the The Garfield Lake Review, OC's literary magazine. I was being invited to a reception for the latest edition because they'd decided to include alumni pieces in the magazine and a short story I'd written in 1999 was one of the first chosen. I was pretty excited because a) I am proud of the story they'd chose, one that ran in the edition I was part of putting out, and b) for a writer being published is being published!

I emailed the student back and told her I couldn't make the reception but would love a copy of the magazine and today it arrived in the mail. As I read back over my story, one I wrote over ten years ago, I thought about how I'd fix it up, tweak it here and there, now that I have a little more experience under my belt. But then I thought no. I really wouldn't change a thing. I was and am proud of the story. I liked writing it (I remember where I was when I wrote it out longhand in my notebook - sitting in the Sports Information Office upstairs in MacKay Gym. I was a student worker for the SIO and obviously worked very hard.) and I remember the first time I read it in a workshop. I was taking a creative writing class at Lansing Community College (OC didn't have creative writing classes at that time) and when I shared the story one woman wiped away tears asking me if it was a true story. That might have been my first real taste of the writing bug. To know that I could affect someone so strongly with my words, it was a pretty heady feeling.

So I thought I'd share the story with you here. It's entitled She is gone which I think is a pretty apt title for the story and for me today. The girl who wrote that story is gone but the writer who crafted the story is still going strong...

She is Gone

I can still vividly remember that night. We were all so young, foolish really, though we would never admit it. We took things for granted, our parents, our education, our friends, even ourselves. I remember it was a cold night, the furnace wasn’t working again but it didn’t matter – just another reason to congregate in someone’s room and complain.

It was late, we all should have been asleep but we weren’t. We were in Laura’s room, curled up with our blankets, wishing for something to do. Someone suggested cards but we did that every night. Someone else said maybe a drive – a warm car, music. Good idea, someone agreed. We all scurried to find coats and shoes. We left the building within minutes, it was beginning to snow again, and piled into someone’s car. At that moment no one could tell the six of us anything – we were young and free.

Snow covered the streets but Frank was a good driver, no one could argue with that. I think it was Laura who started the conversation. She asked what we were all doing the next weekend. Work, parties, not much, were the replies. Kim was talking about her boyfriend back home and Al started in on his least favorite teacher and a paper he had to do.

The car began to fog up and Frank swore under his breath. I looked out the window just in time to see the mailbox we sideswiped. But I didn’t see the tree in front of us.

No one did. None of the others ever would.

When I woke up I was twisted around. My back was against the driver’s seat, my head resting against the cold window, something warm running down my cheek. I remember blinking; everything was fuzzy and silent. I turned my head and felt a dull pain in my neck. My hand immediately went to the seat next to me where Kim had been. It was empty now. Moving slowly and forgetting the pain I realized I needed to do something. I could see Frank’s head on the steering wheel in front of me. Jack – I couldn’t see Jack at all. Maybe he was already out of the car, maybe going for help I prayed. Kim was on the front seat. Her hair was dark now instead of its usual blond. I tried to open my door but couldn’t. I closed my eyes and rested for a minute, at least I think it was just for a minute.

I heard a siren from off in the distance and I remember using everything I had to push open my door. Snow was still falling and I shivered uncontrollably.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later that I saw Jack. He was laying four, maybe five feet from the car, his head thrown back, his legs twisted. The snow around him was completely red; he had on only one shoe and his leather jacket was shredded in spots.
It was if I was frozen. Part of me wanted to scream and throw up, part of me wanted to run to him and hold him. But I couldn’t. A police car pulled up shortly and I remember one of the officers putting a blanket around my shoulders and helping me to the police car. But I never took my eyes off Jack.

Early the next morning I awoke in a hospital. The side of my face was covered in thick white gauze and my arm was in a sling. Nothing too serious, the nurse said, you’ll be pretty sore for awhile but nothing serious. I asked about my friends. The doctor will be in soon, she said.

You’re doing fine, he said. I nodded. The rest? I asked. Their injuries are much more serious he told me. Frank and Kim are still in surgery and Laura is recovering from surgery. Al is also in a room, but we expect them all to be fine.

You didn’t tell me about Jack, I whispered.

We couldn’t help him, the doctor said, his injuries were too severe. He died a few hours ago.

My body went numb. The pain in my neck and head and arm went away, I couldn’t feel anything. He died. He died. What did that mean? I couldn’t comprehend it. Just last week he had been teasing me about my math grade, last night we had had dinner together. And now he was dead? I couldn’t imagine my life without him. There simply were no words or emotions to express what I was feeling. Jack – the one person in the world who truly loved me. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to. Gone.

My life was never the same after that. I wish I had told him how I really felt. I wish I had chosen to sit with him in the front seat that night. I wish he were still here because without him I am not the person that he loved. She is gone and I never let him know how much he meant to her.