Sean

I knew Sean most of my childhood. We went to the same hippie/intellectual/do-it-yourself cooperative charter school back before charter schools were common. I don't think we were always in the same class, but the school was small enough that you pretty much knew everyone. We were in kindergarten together, I'm certain, and in fifth and sixth grades together.

Sean was tall and athletic. He was an incredible artist. He specialized in intricate and patterned geometric drawings that the other kids then wanted to learn. He was cool because he didn't try to be. He was smart and funny, but also kind of reserved. He listened more than he spoke. I knew him, but I didn't. I wish I had paid more attention.

I remember in sixth grade we didn't have a cafeteria, but ate in our classroom. Sean would get his milk, stand next to the trash, drink the milk in one, long pull, and toss the carton in the trash. I think one day someone brought in a quart or bought extra milk cartons to see how much he could drink. I'm vague on the details. I only remember he met the challenge.

I can imagine Sean in a dozen careers--attorney, psychologist, software engineer, architect, doctor, dotcom millionaire. But none of that happened because, on March 1st, 1994, he was killed by a drunk driver with multiple DUIs and a suspended driver's license. The other night, I thought, "It's almost twenty years since Sean was killed." Turns out it's almost nineteen. Nineteen years. He only lived seventeen.

As I reread press clippings, I came across a quote from another high school student: "Sean was honorable." That may sound like a strange thing for one teenage boy to say about another, but it resonated with me. Sean was honorable. He was fair in a way kids rarely are. In fact, if there had ever been a playground dispute, and we kids needed to choose an arbitrator, Sean would have been everyone's choice. We would have all trusted him to listen to both sides and decide what was fair, not favoring friends and not caring about how it would affect him socially.

Back when the veil between the worlds was thin for me and all sorts of spirits came through to me, Sean was one of them. Normally, I have this theory that spirits don't concern themselves with physical things, and I've had plenty of spirits show up when I was in the tub. Still, when as a grown woman, I stepped out of a tub and reached for a towel, all very Rubenesque, I was startled to sense the energy of a boy I had known since kindergarten. And I said, "Sean! I'm naked! Get out of here! Come back when I'm dressed!" He didn't come back, but I swear I heard him laughing. And it was so Sean because he was the kind of person who could pull a practical joke on you, and, rather than being embarrassed, you would laugh, and feel somewhat flattered that he'd chosen you.

The night of the accident, a group of high school students were on the shoulder of the highway, changing a flat tire. As the car, driven by a drunk driver, veered onto the shoulder, the other kids jumped out of the way. Only Sean was struck. This image haunts me. One of my clearest memories of Sean was playing dodgeball. You know, someone throws the ball into the circle, once you're hit, you're out of the game. (I was usually the first one out.) Sean, though, used to drive us all to frustration. He was so agile and focused that usually the recess bell would end before Sean would get hit in dodgeball. Even though he was closest to the car that night, part of me can't believe he was the one who couldn't evade it.

As morbid as it sounds, I've never been able to shake the image of how that last moment must have been. I see him in the headlights, the car speeding and yet time slowing down, and Sean trying to jump out of the way. It has merged with the last real image I had of Sean. Our grade school class got together for a reunion, I think right before high school. As things wound down, a bunch of kids played basketball. Sean, of course, was in the thick of it. I remember glancing over my shoulder, seeing Sean in the air, going for a lay-up, all grace and finesse and promise.

And so, for me, Sean is always in flight.