for Stephen

I don’t have a quote today.

My circle of college friends suffered a horrible loss today, on Christmas Eve, and to write about anything else seems small and inappropriate.

In the early hours of the morning of December 24, my dear friend Stephen Hentchel was in a single-car accident, and he passed away.

I’m having a difficult time really understanding that he is gone from this world. All I can think about is what he was like when he was here.

Stephen liked bookstores. And milk. And toast topped with his mother’s jam. He drove a series of poorly maintained red minivans. He was man enough to admit he liked musicals.

He liked to write. Though he ended up with a double major in math and English, and also spent his last few years in the Navy, what he really wanted was to write for TV. I always wanted him to make it, though I was never completely convinced he’d be able to schmooze well enough to break into the industry.

You see, Stephen was kind of a jackass. He knew it, and strove to maintain that reputation. He did things the way he felt like doing them, and he didn’t really give a shit if it bothered anyone else.

This doesn’t sound like much of a tribute, does it? Yet it is the truth, and I don’t think he would want me to pretend that it wasn’t. Stephen knew who he was, and he didn’t apologize for it. While this caused us to get in our fair share of fights, there was always something admirable about that, too.

And more importantly, when it came right down to it, Stephen was a fiercely loyal friend. He would make me hopping mad one day, then not hesitate to stand up for me the next.

I saw him nearly every single day during my last year in college. He was my neighbor and practically my brother. In the years since then, the thing I appreciated the most about him was the ease with which we always picked up our relationship. I didn’t see or speak to him all that often in the last 5 and a half years, but each time I did, there was not a speck of awkwardness. There was never any undertone of guilt about the amount of time that had passed between phone calls. There were no long silences when either of us did not know what to say. Instead, we just traded banter much like we always had.

The last time I spoke with him was shortly before the date of the Chicago Marathon. He had corrected my grammar on a facebook post, and I made a snide remark back. Instead of posting again, he called me. We ended up talking for quite some time about my upcoming marathon and his impending move to Japan. It was an effortless conversation, like it always has been. I hung up the phone thinking our next conversation would be similar.

But he’s gone now. I won’t talk to him again. Ever. And I find that I cannot help but wonder where he is now.

Oddly enough, the thought makes me smile just a little bit. Because, you see, Stephen did not believe in God, or heaven, or any kind of afterlife. It was a rather sore spot in his relationship with me and the rest of the people in our circle of friends. The discussions (and fights) we had about this were never very productive, though, because really – who can know for sure?

Now, Stephen is the first to know. And I do believe he is still out there, somewhere, in some form. Because I can still feel him. It makes me laugh to think of him wherever he is now, pissed off because the rest of us were right, but also drumming his fingers with an evil laugh because he knows he’ll be able to point and laugh as he watches the rest of us do stupid things for the rest of our lives.

Wherever you are, Stephen, know that I will miss you. You were sometimes lazy, often thoughtless, and always a pain in the ass – but also always a good friend, in the end. You did not deserve to die that night. And I promise you, every time I feel you laughing at me for the rest of my life, I will take a moment to think of you -- and tell you to shut up.

I love you, jackass. Always.