Monday, August 10, 2009, 5:29 pm
A fox and a friend, in memory
Six years and two months ago my friend Sean died of leukemia. Today he would have turned 23.
A few years ago, my friend Tom, who had been in a pop-punk band with Sean, wrote a song about his death. Now every Aug. 10 I listen to the song and think about the two of them and our lost time.
This course is marked and you’re setting sail
Ready to depart this broken world
These winds won’t die until you make it home
And that’s where we want to be
But it’s too much for us now
This water’s just too deep for us to tread it with youSo pack up a piece of me and leave your love behind
This loss is victory and I know that you are fine
But it’s still taking every part of me to make this come out right
I know this is not goodbyeThis tide is slowly fleeting and this current remains strong
But no one knows what hour’s left until they both are gone
These words will never leave me
I’ll use them to hold on
I’ll take a breath and sing each note in memory of you
I was listening to the song at about 2:30 this morning, driving east on State Road 206 coming back from Gainesville. Given the hour, there were few other cars on the road. But a few miles from the Matanzas River one came from the other direction.
As we were about to pass, a fox darted into the road from my left. I braked quickly but couldn’t stop. From the clunk coming from underneath my car, I thought the fox must have died. I had never hit an animal before, and I wasn’t ready for how unsettling that noise was. With the dark and the condensation covering the rear window, though, I couldn’t see if it was still in the roadway or had limped away.
Even if it had made it to the shoulder, I doubt it would have survived. But I don’t know for sure. So, as I drove over the river, I thought about the fox and my friend and hoped they both made it home. Whatever that means.
