in medias res

Saying Goodbye to Neil

My father’s tone remains the same when he’s trying to tell me a joke and when he’s delivering bad news. (And his voice doesn't show sadness - only his pauses.) That’s how he told me about Neil – with no forewarning. I had called home on my way out to meet my friend Lauren at Andrew’s downtown.

“We just got a call from Chuck who was with Neil in Charleston last weekend. He said Neil was out riding his motorcycle and he was in another accident. Except he didn’t make it."

Didn’t make it – like it was a sports team or a flight he wasn’t quite adequate or timely enough to “make.” I was sobbing as I turned my car back towards my apartment. There was nothing to say, but as soon as I got off the phone with them, I wanted to call back. I wanted to crawl through the phone and cry in their arms. Everything was going on as usual here. I wanted to be with the people whose lives also felt interrupted.

Neil wasn’t technically family, but when he took over David’s downstairs apartment and started working for my dad, you couldn’t have told any of us that. He had the run of the house, and spent many late nights in kitchen talks with the family. He was always polite, but he was also always going to do what he wanted. My mom would always call after him to wear his helmet and be safe. He would “yes ma’am,” and then we’d hear him doing a wheelie down the street. Neil was so charming and irresistible, no one could ever actually get mad at him – just shake their heads and smile.

He loved his motorcycle – a sporty little Honda – and I think it fit him well. He could enjoy how it felt to speed. He made up errands just so he could run all over Charleston. I don’t know of him making any long-term plans – he just wanted to enjoy the ride. He was carefree, but not flaky. He would sit around and talk about God, or love, or happiness with anyone. Everybody loved Neil.

I think that’s why we were all very sad to hear that he died. He had been doing tricks in the Anderson Mall parking lot with some of his buddies. He lost control while attempting a wheelie and crashed into a concrete wall. He died almost instantly – or at least I’d like to think that since I don’t really know – from severe chest trauma and a spinal fracture. The newspaper said that his friends were standing in the rain and watching, and couldn’t offer any comments. A dark black stain and orange spots of police spray paint mark the spot now. Ah, Neil.

People came from all over for his funeral – Florida, California, Virginia, North Carolina…It has been hard to say goodbye. I think if I remove myself from it and make it a story I’m telling, it’s easier. I’m observing, not experiencing. And the guy in the casket looked nothing like Neil. His face was twice its size and it was covered in thick makeup. I feel like I told the guy in the casket goodbye, but I still expect Neil to come around.

His grandmother, Mama Jo, stood by the head of the casket to receive condolences. Neil grew up in Mama Jo's house. She hugged me and told me that they had donated his organs, so that part of Neil still lives on. “He was a perfect specimen 'cause he's young. They even took his eyes. I asked the man to cut his hair while they're at it. It was too long. He'd always say, 'The girls like it.'”

When we walked away, my brother said he catches himself thinking of how he wants to call Neil and laugh with him about who was there and how he was dressed and what they were saying, but...

While it was sad, I think most people there felt peace that Neil is in heaven. Most, but not everyone. His father gave an emphatic plea for everyone to, “Next time you want to make a bad decision, don’t. Don’t do it for Neil. Make his death mean something.” I’m just as guilty of always wanting a reason for something, but something in the way his father said that made me question this tendency. We want reasons and meaning and purpose so that everything can fit nicely, be processed, and then be filed as a “lesson” for future reference. I don’t think life is random, but I also don’t think we should always feel like we can understand everything. We can’t. But this is always easy to say when my emotions aren’t suppressing my reasoning.

That was this past weekend. In two days, I drove from Tallahassee to Atlanta to Anderson and back. I got back late Sunday night and now I’m off. As long as I stay busy, I’m okay. Maybe this coming weekend, when I’m with my family again, I can grieve a little more. I’ll let the pressure out slowly so I don’t spill over. There’s enough to do during the week now.

One thing that still needed doing was finding a new home. My roommate and I had decided to make everything easier on ourselves by just staying in the same apartment for next year – a perfect plan…except the property managers had already rented our place. Mims called to tell me that around noon today. The hunt was on again, and she’s studying for an exam tomorrow and, on Thursday, leaves for a one month volunteer gig in Charlotte. We had to move quickly. She gave me permission to just find a place for us and take care of everything, but I didn’t feel good making such a big decision for both of us. I went through several websites, put together a listing of places that met our criteria (2/2, W/D, close(ish) to school, affordable). I suppressed my inner-cheapskate in favor of safety (i.e. – the 2/2 that was $430 and in a notorious neighborhood). I gave her the list, made an appointment to see one place, and we began our hunt (again). This met all of the above qualifications, but it was small. Outside felt dry and deserted. Another place I kept going back to – literally around the corner from where we live now- was also managed by the same company. It was being shown at the same time, so our girl sent us over to look at it. It’s a 1,200 sq. ft. 2/2 townhouse WITH an enclosed back patio. It’s nice. And it’s BIG (when it’s empty) with high ceilings and walk-in attic storage space AND window seats in the upstairs room. I’m most excited about the wall of built-in bookshelves on the second floor. We saw it at 4:45, and signed the lease by 5:45. (And, it’s Bruiser-friendly.) Neither of us had time to mess around. The only problem is that we’ll have maybe a 5 day move-in window. Worst case scenario will be one day, and Mims gets back from her trip only several days before. It’ll be rough. The fact that I will need to prime my “picked acorn” room doesn’t make it any easier.

Now that things are a little more settled, I’ve fallen back into Walker Percy. The Second Coming. I’m reading for pleasure. It’s my therapy. (Also reading The Burden of Representation by John Tagg. Percy’s a little more accessible and fun.) I’ve missed reading.

Now, work beckons. Actually, it has gotten sick of beckoning. It’s giving me the cold shoulder. I must woo my work. Maybe I’ll remember all the reasons I fell in love with it in the first place? Maybe.

(Mims just moments before we signed our lease.)

posted by tara @ 10:09 PM