On Brandon Sheehan

            When I was 15, one of my best friends, Brandon Sheehan died. It was a tragic accident, whose fault it really was, will never really be known. Brandon was on a scooter, not wearing a helmet, out in the middle of nowhere. The driver said he didn’t see him and that Brandon failed to stop at a stop sign. He was crushed as the car attempted to avoid him and rolled on top of him. I still think about this, 15 years later. All of us, his friends that is, had been trying to get ahold of him for some reason all that week and that day. It’s one of those odd situations in life that we’ll never fully understand.

            Years later I worked in a Laboratory. I washed beakers; dishes etc in acid so as no leftover substance would influence the next test etc. My uncle had gotten me the job; his friend ran the lab so it was as easy as filling out the application. I enjoyed the people at Sherry Labs, everyone was very nice to me. I was the youngest employee there, by a large margin. I think the next youngest person was 30 and I was 18, fresh out of High school.

            One individual in particular I became very good friends with. He was one of the late 20’s early 30’s employee’s. He used to listen to Nirvana he told me. We would talk about music any time we worked in the same room.

One day we got on the subject of old cars that we used to drive. I related the story of my “Infernal Moose Boat”. It was an old Delta 88 Oldsmobile. The shocks were out, the horn sounded like a dyeing moose, and it leaked every fluid it held, even gas. I loved that damn car; I drove Isaiah Hawk and myself to and from school everyday in this contraption. It was a death trap on wheels.

So this person, we’ll call him “Bob”, tells me about this great big boat he had. Wrecked it on the corner of Deaver road, a few years ago. I asked him about the accident details. He became very … sheepish at this. I tell him it’s ok if he doesn’t want to talk about. He tells me that he killed a kid on a moped in the wreck.

My jaw dropped. I dropped whatever glassware I was holding in my hands. I asked him if he knew the kids name, and was it Brandon Sheehan? He nodded and gave me a weird look. I related the tale to him as if I had been waiting for this moment all my life.

“Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”

We both stood there in shock and disbelief. I told him how we had made plans to look for him and confront him. He told me how he still had nightmares about what had happened. The amount of guilt he felt was something I can only imagine to be similar to the guilt I have for things that happened on my tour of duty in Afghanistan.

I’m a firm believer that things happen for a reason, even if we don’t understand them. Brandon’s death is a true tragedy that I still struggle to understand. It has a profound impact on our lives, and some of us are still not at peace with it.

Dear “Bob” it’s ok, you are forgiven.