Forth of July, 1995

Last night I started thinking about the summer coming up, and all of the great things that we can do in the warm weather. I thought about things I did as a kid, and my favorite thing was going to a lake and hanging out with friends swimming and being on the beach and riding boats. These were rare occurrences, actually, but always my favorite.

Got me thinking about one year when I was fourteen. In the thick of weirdness at my church, we had this group of friends. My parents did, that is. So, for the Forth of July we went out to one of their places. Out on a farm, with a lake and a big yard and lots of buildings. I didn't know the people very well. My sister was friends with the little daughter. I loved that place. It was beautiful. We had a great day, full of all of the things I loved. They had a pinball machine in one of the sheds that we could play, and of course, all of the lake stuff.

They had a son Calan too. He was a year older than me, tall and skinny with a sad smile and crooked teeth. He had an obsession with comic books. he was an artist. And he had a friend there that weekend so I hardly saw him most of the day. I knew him from church but hadn't hung out with him much. He was in this crowd of fringe people, who didn't put on the church face and try to impress everyone, who weren't popular at school, who were just themselves and let everyone see them for who they were. That weekend, at his house, seeing where he lived and the way he'd decorated his bedroom and the things he liked, I caught a glimpse of his soul. It sort of creeped me out. But he was a nice guy too. we talked a little that day, but I don't remember much about it.

After dark when the folks settled in to watch the fireworks from miles away in their lawn chairs, and my brothers went to light illegal fireworks, some how I ended up following Scott over into a pasture and up a fence and then up onto a rooftop, where we could see the fireworks just perfectly. I snagged my favorite shirt on a nail but I didn't really care. We just sat there and watched the fireworks, and I don't even know why. Maybe we were just two misfits finally connecting on some weird level. Maybe he was lonely like me and like having the company of the opposite sex. It would have been the perfect moment to say or do something romantic, but we just sat there together. And I'll remember it forever because I felt like myself and it had been such a good day and I was safe there.

About a year later, my friend called me to tell me Calan had hanged himself in his bedroom.

I don't know why it mattered so much to me. I didn't ever know him that well, and we left the church before Calan and I became good friends. I think we might have. Maybe that's what haunts me about it. Or maybe it was just that in a lot of ways, I was so much like him. Or maybe it was because it just wasn't right. Because he was a gentle spirit with good to offer the world, who struggled just like anyone else. Who bothered to talk to me. I think about that forth of July sometimes and wonder if things had been a little different, what could have happened with me and Scott after then. And when I get to heaven if he's there I'm gonna ask him what tormented his soul in that lesser world where we once lived where good and bad walked on a tight line, and simplicity and beauty held hands, and horrific and terrible intertwined with every day.