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December 06, 2002 // 5:38 p.m. // The only story you really ever need
I've tried composing this entry numerous times and it always comes out jumbled. It's not necessarily a difficult subject to deal with, but rather one I've never tried putting into words. I remember the rude awakening I received seven years ago this morning, and to the best of my knowledge, being the only one that knew what was going on. The rest of that day with the exception of the first hour of school, were all a blur. The week prior to that however, especially the day before are etched into my mind. I remember joking about the person who talked to our eighth grade class about organ donation exactly one week before. I remember our close class becoming divided as we were picked, and prepared to play the basketball game we had received as a reward for our behavior. I remember I was on his team, that we won with little effort, and that he never missed a shot. I remember the score being something like 89-21 with him hitting a three point shot from a good 30-35 feet away that banked off the backboard seconds before the bell rang letting us out of school. I remember the cheering, the high five I gave that came after that amazing shot, and I remember his invite to play football with him at his house, which is on my street, is within sight and only a half block from mine. I remember telling him I couldn't, that I had my volunteer project to do. I remember the helicopter landing on the street just behind ours, with the only girl I had gone to school with since pre-school yelling out the name of the helicopter from the van we were riding in, as we finished our long day of volunteering. It was all she could say over and over. I remember walking to it out of curiosity and hearing the chatter that, "the person must be dead because it's not taking off right away." I remember the initial news report describing what it was. An accidental shooting. And I remember the initial shock that came when I realized I knew who it was. And I remember so much more about flowers and footballs and funerals and friendships that always make this story come out jumbled, but the details are more clear than what I did yesterday. I'm just doing a lot of remembering. And sometimes, when you have the great memories too, they don't need to be written down or expressed, and that's all the story you really ever need.