Member-only story
What Happened When My Friend Died at the Hands of his Friend
How I learned that broken hearts can keep beating
Unexpected death has a way of tilting your world on its axis.
When I was a freshman in college, three of my friends were in a terrible car accident. They had been out all night drinking and were heading home in the wee hours to get their gear to go fishing. I know this because I’d been drinking with them. I was still sipping brew when the news of the accident came in.
Someone telephoned the bar saying my friends had been in a fatal crash but couldn’t yet say who was dead. I remember praying, “Please, God, don’t let it be Dave.” Today I’m ashamed of having had a preference. I’d grown up with all three boys, and we’d all hung out together.
God answered my prayer, but it was cold comfort. Dave was a neighbor, and I knew him best, so it makes sense that I worried about him particularly. Also, I wasn’t sure who else had been in the car.
Then a second call came in, and the details emerged.
The driver, Brian, lost control of his vehicle while negotiating a turn, slamming into a utility pole. One of the passengers, Len, was killed instantly. Brian and the other passenger, Dave, walked away with minor bumps and bruises (on their bodies anyway).
