For Nicole
Yesterday morning, I’d just come back from a bicycle ride. It was a beautiful day, sunny and warm. The dog’s water dish was empty and the laundry needed folding. Then Rachael handed me the phone.
On the other end was my friend Ann Marie. She told me that Nicole, a senior on the high school tennis team I coached, had been killed in a car accident the night before. Predictably, my initial feeling was shock, followed by a jumble of memories. I couldn’t get the image of her laughing at a missed backhand out of my head.
For those who didn’t know her, Nicole will always be that girl who died just before graduation. It’s sad that she should be reduced to one event, summed up in a single sentence. There was so much more to know about her. She loved to dance. She drank as much coffee as me. And while she clearly made some bad, reckless choices, those choices never hardened her. She was kind and generous. She was one of those rare people who could manage to be completely truthful without ever hurting anyone’s feelings.
The end of senior year is treacherous. The past draws you back at the same time your future is pulling you forward. The present can feel both inert and anxious, like something to fast-forward through, or even throw away. That’s when things get dangerous, because the present is the link, a necessary part of the continuum. Without it, everything unravels, like it did for Nicole early Friday morning on I-95.