Of course, it happened over email since she was in New Jersey and I was here in Lower Sheol (aka South Florida). We were on the same mailing list (DaveWorld, a mailing list where there are no Dave's. You just wouldn't get it) for several years and knew each other through it. We had exchanged private emails a few times but nothing real significant. Then one year ago it happened.
I was at work at The Company, with this massive headache, feeling exceedingly tired but yet so wired with a sugar and caffiene high that I was buzzing (“Sean, do you hear that wierd buzzing noise?” “Oooohhhh ddddoooonnnn'tttt mmmmiiiinnnndddd tttthhhhaaaatttt,,,, iiiitttt'ssss jjjjuuuusssstttt mmmmeeee … … … …”). Spring sent an email, I replied with an uncharacteristic frankness that is generally reserved with inebriation and five hours later (all through email—a kind of slow-man's Instant Messenger if you will) we were an item.
Okay, an item spread out over 1,200 miles of U. S. shoreline, but still, an item. We didn't physically meet until January of this year (and if you check, you'll see that's there this gap in January—that was me in New Jersey). Then shen came down here for Easter, and then once more in July, and has been here ever since.
Danger past. God forgotten.
—Old Indian (sub-continent) proverb.
It seems that Hurricane Michelle blew past us. Some high winds, some rain, nothing much else. Heck, the power didn't even flicker and we were able to keep the computers up and running here at Condo Conner.
Spring and I received word to day that yes indeed, a friend of ours did commit suicide. Letting it sink in, thoughts kept crossing my mind. Did we tease him too much on the car thang? Did any of us think to tell him that mixing drugs and alcohol is probably a Bad Idea? Where there any signs that he might be suicidal?
Too many questions. No answers.