read
write
members
about
account

 

datedatememberrandomsearch

January 27, 2009
I got a phone call from an unlikely source one day: Jeff Hoogsteen. He said, "You should sit down."

I was in the kitchen. I sat on Chelsea's cage.

"Doug was in a car accident two nights ago, and he's passed away. He's dead."

Next day in English class Terry Gadd tried to read Houseman's 'To an Athlete Dying Young.' He broke down.

Then, in music class, I overblew on the trumpet. I was so fucking angry no-one dared to give me more grief about my sharpness.

To say I carried his coffin sounds trite, but that's what I did.