RIP Austin
One of the most vibrant kids I know got hit by a truck on his bike this morning. He was killed immediately. He was sixteen or seventeen. I had him for two classes-- for a while he was the only boy in both classes. I can't believe it. There's going to be a big fucking empty seat now. Nobody's going to sit there for the rest of the year.
Yesterday (yesterday!) he was sitting right in front of me taking history notes. I used to give him shit about coming to class thirty minutes late drenched in sweat from skateboarding at lunch. I don't think I ever said anything really mean to him ever-- I'd tease him all the time, the way you tease the fuck-up kid who's way too smart and way too lazy-- but if I did, I'm sorry. He would have gone on to be whatever the fuck he wanted to be in life. He wasn't like some people, where you wonder what's going to become of them. I never really thought about it with him because you just knew-- he did a lot of crazy things but he was going to be okay in the end. At least, we thought so.
Man. Over the summer one of our substitute teachers died and when Austin found out about it, just a few weeks ago, he was so crushed. "Man," he said, "I would have totally given him one of my livers!" Then he realized that people generally only have one liver.
Um. This is... I can't really deal with this. There's going to be that EMPTY FUCKING SPACE at the table every day for the rest of the year. So much goddam life just drained out of our school.
It sinks in by spurts-- I'll say "Austin was killed" to myself and it'll be real, and then I'll start thinking about Austin-- I just saw him YESTERDAY-- and he'll be so alive in my head that I'll stop believing he's dead, and then I'll think it again, killed, and he dies all over again. Just writing the words is almost unbearable.
One of our teachers spent most of yesterday yelling at him. Then he died. She's not in good shape today, because she loved him just like the rest of us did, but yesterday he got on her last nerve and she never had a chance to get their relationship back on its usual good footing, and now she'll never see him again.
I think he lived alone with his mother. She just grounded him last week, he was talking about it in class. His poor mother, I can't even, I can't even begin to imagine, I can't, what would you DO if you heard that your wonderful son had just been hit by a huge fucking truck on South Congress and killed? And then you have to go back to your house and you have to see his room and his skateboard and all of it. We'll have to clean out his locker.
I'm just going to stop writing.
Yesterday (yesterday!) he was sitting right in front of me taking history notes. I used to give him shit about coming to class thirty minutes late drenched in sweat from skateboarding at lunch. I don't think I ever said anything really mean to him ever-- I'd tease him all the time, the way you tease the fuck-up kid who's way too smart and way too lazy-- but if I did, I'm sorry. He would have gone on to be whatever the fuck he wanted to be in life. He wasn't like some people, where you wonder what's going to become of them. I never really thought about it with him because you just knew-- he did a lot of crazy things but he was going to be okay in the end. At least, we thought so.
Man. Over the summer one of our substitute teachers died and when Austin found out about it, just a few weeks ago, he was so crushed. "Man," he said, "I would have totally given him one of my livers!" Then he realized that people generally only have one liver.
Um. This is... I can't really deal with this. There's going to be that EMPTY FUCKING SPACE at the table every day for the rest of the year. So much goddam life just drained out of our school.
It sinks in by spurts-- I'll say "Austin was killed" to myself and it'll be real, and then I'll start thinking about Austin-- I just saw him YESTERDAY-- and he'll be so alive in my head that I'll stop believing he's dead, and then I'll think it again, killed, and he dies all over again. Just writing the words is almost unbearable.
One of our teachers spent most of yesterday yelling at him. Then he died. She's not in good shape today, because she loved him just like the rest of us did, but yesterday he got on her last nerve and she never had a chance to get their relationship back on its usual good footing, and now she'll never see him again.
I think he lived alone with his mother. She just grounded him last week, he was talking about it in class. His poor mother, I can't even, I can't even begin to imagine, I can't, what would you DO if you heard that your wonderful son had just been hit by a huge fucking truck on South Congress and killed? And then you have to go back to your house and you have to see his room and his skateboard and all of it. We'll have to clean out his locker.
I'm just going to stop writing.