Reactions To Death, Part III

I've tried to write this post about Megan Toughill three times, and it never comes out right. We were close friends throughout high school, but hadn't spoken at all since graduation. I found out about her death when, after googling her name, I came upon her big sister's website and that had a memorial to Megan.

I suppose it's because I'm a Gemini, or because I'm hyper aware of my surroundings at all times, or because I used to be so critical of myself that I would notice every little thing about others, but I remember so many insignificant details about Megan. Her black cheerleader skirt that she would wear with knee socks, converse, and a pink top with a print of that stupid cat with wearing a collar that was so popular in the late 90's. That time she chipped her tooth while trying to take a hit off my sister's glass bong. Sitting in the back seat of Brian Johnson's turquoise, beat-up Toyota on one of many record-buying trips to Vinyl Solution in Huntington Beach, smoking cigarettes and singing along to Circle Jerks and Descendents. All the skate-punks being madly in love with her, and her flippancy towards them. How much I envied her confidence. Her tyrant father. How often she'd say "dude".

She died when she was thrown out of her car onto the freeway while she was driving home, drunk, after a party. I know some of the details because, coincidentally, a friend of a friend was driving behind her, and pulled over to try to help her. He came home with her blood all over his clothes.

I have these fantasies of running into people I used to know and catching up with them...laughing about our pasts together...marveling at how much we've changed. She was always one of those people that I was confident I would have such an encounter with.