Lucid Waking

Archive for February 19th, 2010

Reflections on a Girl

        Exactly a year ago, I had been sitting in my high school’s student commons when heard the news that a good friend of mine had passed away. She was seventeen years old and died from an ordinary flu. I was numb, although I didn’t know it. We had to perform—by obligation and personal necessity—at a vocal jazz festival in a city several hours south of us the next morning. I pushed away my tears to be stronger for the group, though I felt that I was the only one making a concerted effort to put forth as much positive energy to the audience. It’s hard to make an audience want to get up and dance when you’re noticing that hole in your heart and your midst.
        At the funeral, I cried. I didn’t want to cry as much as I did, but everything came tumbling out from places in my soul I didn’t know existed. Afterwards, I felt numb again. I don’t think this was all acceptance, a part of me still tears up when I think about all her opportunities lost. Occasionally I’ll find myself thinking existentially about life and death and whether or not I am doing justice in how I remember her.
        Today, I needed a moment of reflection. I cut a long piece of blue ribbon and set out for the gardens on campus. I reached the carillon and started down the hill behind it; I picked a tree that felt like the right one, and tied the ribbon around it. Then I slowly walked back to campus, in a roundabout fashion. My path took me down the canal in the back of campus and then up a set of stairs to where the academic buildings sat stoically. I watched the reflection in the canal and the sun between the trees. Part of me wished she could have the opportunity to enjoy her own experience in college—probably that same part that wondered whether or not I was doing enough to preserve the sanctity of her memory. As I watched the geese fly noisily from their perch on the water, past the bridge and into the sky, I resolved that it didn’t matter what I did as long as I was satisfied. She no longer cared and even if she did, would never know my thoughts. For however long that ribbon stays tied to the tree, I’ll be happy. Thinking back, I shouldn’t have tied it in a knot before the bow, so that the birds could easily untie it and use it in their nests, but letting go is really what this whole day is about.
        I don’t think we—myself and her other friends—could possibly forget what a beautiful, unique person she was, but I only let her guide me to do my best and to live each of my days up to my full potential instead of dwelling on the tragedy of her death. We never know what the future brings, but we can make the best of the present while we can. Even though I know she’ll never read this I have to say: Rest in peace, Marie. We all miss you.

Author’s comments on post 352: Obviously, self-explanatory since it is biographical. Originally I was going to write an ode, but I only got so far before I had to give up. This came out much more freely. I wish she could have gotten her wish of being an opera singer, but I suppose my bass and I will just have to do that for her. I have something more hopeful and interesting planned for tomorrow, but today, I had to get this off my chest.