Up until just now, I could not remember the name of Danielle's dog (Zeppo) for the life of me, but I do remember being at the Minneapolis Punks Picnic on July 4th of last year and seeing Danielle show up with Zeppo in tow. After a minute or two or idle conversation/gossip, Danielle asked me if I wanted to play with Zeppo and handed me one a plastic slingshot-type apparatus that you load a tennis ball into for the purpose of hurling it for the furthest distance possible. I was on my fourth beer and was already feeling it a little, but I told her I was more than happy to play with Zeppo. I loaded a tennis ball into the end of the thing and after faking Zeppo out a few times, launched the ball as hard as I could. Being that I was a little buzzed, I didn't fling the ball down the hill I was standing on top of-rather, it headed straight for some random girl who was chilling out on a blanket and reading a book. The ball bounced once in the grass and then beaned this poor girl in the shoulder. She looked up in time to see Zeppo plow into her like a linebacker about a second later. I felt like such a jerk! Luckily this girl had dogs of her own and was cool about the whole thing when I tried to apologize to her. While all this was going on, I could hear Danielle laughing her ass off as I desperately tried to make myself look like less of an idiot. Having only lived in the Minneapolis area for a year and a half, I haven't spent a ton of time hanging out with Danielle but I can honestly say that while I was finding my way in the wacky craziness known as the Minneapolis punk scene, Danielle was always super cool to me and we were always genuinely happy to run into each other at the Triple Rock or wherever some mad punk rock was going down. I can only imagine how hard this is on people who have known Danielle for years, as she is a truly good person with nothing at all to prove.
When my dad called me at work, it was the second time I’d talked to him that day, which was weird. I talk to him maybe once a week, maybe more, maybe less. I had called him earlier in the day to ask some important question that is lost now-wedding stuff, maybe to chide him about the Vikings latest addition? It doesn’t matter any more. What mattered was that I was alone in the office that whole afternoon and I was talking to my dad for the second time that day, two things that don’t normally happen let alone coincide.
When my dad told me, I felt like I’d been hit in the chest by a rock. The wind was completely knocked out of me. It was a good thing I was already sitting down, because I probably would have missed the chair if I had tried to after. A tear or two trickled out, but for the most part I was speechless. People my age, people I know, aren’t supposed to die. What a totally foreign concept.
Both my parents wanted to go to the wake. It was right after I got off work on a Friday, so they both met me in Como Park, and we all rode together in my dad’s car. Holy awkward, Batman-I don’t even remember the last time just the three of us were together doing anything, and now we were on our way to a wake. We passed most of the evening talking about the only thing we all really had in common any more-me and my sisters.
The wake was awful. To see all the people who had so recently been so close, so meaningful to Daniele, crying so hard for her…I didn’t feel worthy to be there. It had been so long since I’d been there for her, and to hear about all the awfulness she had been going through; I didn’t deserve a place there among her closest friends. I was surprised that the hurt had sunk so deep inside me, but this was not the place for it. I had no right.
But it was also great. We saw all the old neighbors, so that was neat. Betsy Stefan and I made vague plans to have lunch some day in the not so distant future. I hope that actually happens. We got updates on how all the kids from the old neighborhood were generally doing, as far as anyone knew.
My parents and I tried to figure out which 20-something wandering around was Johnny and failed. I still wouldn’t recognize him on the street if I saw him. But I wouldn’t have recognized Daniele, either.
I tried so hard to avoid looking at Daniele in the casket. I paused in front of her for a few moments, taking her in, apologizing as loudly as I could without saying a word. But this was not the Daniele I remember. This is not how I want my last memory of her to be. Instead I went to look at all the other pictures of her around the room. She was beautiful.
After the wake, my parents and I went to Snuffy’s for dinner. Tremendous awkwardness continued. I didn’t even realize I was hungry, but apparently I ate almost the whole basket of onion rings myself. I don’t even like onion rings.
My dad invited me back to his house for a beer. It was getting late, and I wasn’t ready to go home yet. Got in my car, started driving, and starting really thinking about her.
The memories I have of Daniele are all very short, probably because of how young we were. They’re more like photos than videos.
I remember when we first moved to the neighborhood and discovered how many other little girls about my age were there. Not one but TWO even lived almost right next door. I don’t remember the name of the little girl who lived immediately next door to Daniele, but they were already friends so I joined right in.
I remember there was a fence with what seemed to be a secret door between their yards. Very convenient. But then they moved away, so it was just us two.
I remember a lot of time spent with sidewalk chalk. We used it like make up, and someone must have thought it was ok because we did it a lot. It washed off pretty well.
We tried to fly like Mary Poppins, using umbrellas to jump off the front stairs whenever it was windy.
We played hide-and-go-seek a lot. She told me that if I held my breath in a room, I might be able to hear the hider breathing. Trouble is, I always inhaled really loud so I could hold my breath for a long time…she always knew.
She would get bossy when we were playing Barbies, so I would get annoyed and go home to boss my little sister around and play how I wanted.
We would run across the front lawns of our neighbors to save time getting to each other’s houses, and walk together as slowly as possible down the sidewalk to get back.
We would go sledding down the hill in my front yard, and probably get stuck under the parked cars if we got going too fast. That’ll just happen sometimes.
One time when we were playing in Daniele’s room, her mom wanted her help with something. We promptly hid in her closet, so Rachel changed Johnny’s diaper right in front of the closet door. She knew we were in there. It’s not like we were being quiet-we just thought we were invisible.
We had guinea pig parties with Betsy. We alternated lawns, depending on whose was getting chemically treated this week.
There was one spring break when it was ungodly hot-something like 90 degrees in the middle of March. We spend most of the week with Betsy in her basement, the coolest place we could find.
The last time I remember seeing Daniele was at an ice cream social my church was hosting. Betsy showed up with blue hair, and Daniele was half red and half blue. My 12-year-old self didn’t quite know what to make of that.
Unfortunately, all of these memories came flashing back at exactly the same moment as I was driving down Highway 36. Finally, I cried. For the good times, for the brief times we hated each other, for the loss of innocence as we grew up. I had to pull over because I couldn’t see anymore; I could barely breathe to cry. I missed my friend so much.
I am still filled with guilt, but coming to terms with the fact that most people don’t retain the friends they had when they were five. To me, her legacy is to make sure to let the important people know that they are important, they are loved, and no matter what they do they are welcome to come home.
Up until just now, I could not remember the name of Danielle's dog (Zeppo) for the life of me, but I do remember being at the Minneapolis Punks Picnic on July 4th of last year and seeing Danielle show up with Zeppo in tow. After a minute or two or idle conversation/gossip, Danielle asked me if I wanted to play with Zeppo and handed me one a plastic slingshot-type apparatus that you load a tennis ball into for the purpose of hurling it for the furthest distance possible. I was on my fourth beer and was already feeling it a little, but I told her I was more than happy to play with Zeppo. I loaded a tennis ball into the end of the thing and after faking Zeppo out a few times, launched the ball as hard as I could. Being that I was a little buzzed, I didn't fling the ball down the hill I was standing on top of-rather, it headed straight for some random girl who was chilling out on a blanket and reading a book. The ball bounced once in the grass and then beaned this poor girl in the shoulder. She looked up in time to see Zeppo plow into her like a linebacker about a second later. I felt like such a jerk! Luckily this girl had dogs of her own and was cool about the whole thing when I tried to apologize to her. While all this was going on, I could hear Danielle laughing her ass off as I desperately tried to make myself look like less of an idiot.
ReplyDeleteHaving only lived in the Minneapolis area for a year and a half, I haven't spent a ton of time hanging out with Danielle but I can honestly say that while I was finding my way in the wacky craziness known as the Minneapolis punk scene, Danielle was always super cool to me and we were always genuinely happy to run into each other at the Triple Rock or wherever some mad punk rock was going down. I can only imagine how hard this is on people who have known Danielle for years, as she is a truly good person with nothing at all to prove.
The above was posted by me-Doug Saretsky. I had to pick "anonymous" in order to get it to appear on here.
ReplyDeleteWhen my dad called me at work, it was the second time I’d talked to him that day, which was weird. I talk to him maybe once a week, maybe more, maybe less. I had called him earlier in the day to ask some important question that is lost now-wedding stuff, maybe to chide him about the Vikings latest addition? It doesn’t matter any more. What mattered was that I was alone in the office that whole afternoon and I was talking to my dad for the second time that day, two things that don’t normally happen let alone coincide.
ReplyDeleteWhen my dad told me, I felt like I’d been hit in the chest by a rock. The wind was completely knocked out of me. It was a good thing I was already sitting down, because I probably would have missed the chair if I had tried to after. A tear or two trickled out, but for the most part I was speechless. People my age, people I know, aren’t supposed to die. What a totally foreign concept.
Both my parents wanted to go to the wake. It was right after I got off work on a Friday, so they both met me in Como Park, and we all rode together in my dad’s car. Holy awkward, Batman-I don’t even remember the last time just the three of us were together doing anything, and now we were on our way to a wake. We passed most of the evening talking about the only thing we all really had in common any more-me and my sisters.
(contd next post)
(continued from previous post)
ReplyDeleteThe wake was awful. To see all the people who had so recently been so close, so meaningful to Daniele, crying so hard for her…I didn’t feel worthy to be there. It had been so long since I’d been there for her, and to hear about all the awfulness she had been going through; I didn’t deserve a place there among her closest friends. I was surprised that the hurt had sunk so deep inside me, but this was not the place for it. I had no right.
But it was also great. We saw all the old neighbors, so that was neat. Betsy Stefan and I made vague plans to have lunch some day in the not so distant future. I hope that actually happens. We got updates on how all the kids from the old neighborhood were generally doing, as far as anyone knew.
My parents and I tried to figure out which 20-something wandering around was Johnny and failed. I still wouldn’t recognize him on the street if I saw him. But I wouldn’t have recognized Daniele, either.
I tried so hard to avoid looking at Daniele in the casket. I paused in front of her for a few moments, taking her in, apologizing as loudly as I could without saying a word. But this was not the Daniele I remember. This is not how I want my last memory of her to be. Instead I went to look at all the other pictures of her around the room. She was beautiful.
After the wake, my parents and I went to Snuffy’s for dinner. Tremendous awkwardness continued. I didn’t even realize I was hungry, but apparently I ate almost the whole basket of onion rings myself. I don’t even like onion rings.
My dad invited me back to his house for a beer. It was getting late, and I wasn’t ready to go home yet. Got in my car, started driving, and starting really thinking about her.
The memories I have of Daniele are all very short, probably because of how young we were. They’re more like photos than videos.
I remember when we first moved to the neighborhood and discovered how many other little girls about my age were there. Not one but TWO even lived almost right next door. I don’t remember the name of the little girl who lived immediately next door to Daniele, but they were already friends so I joined right in.
I remember there was a fence with what seemed to be a secret door between their yards. Very convenient. But then they moved away, so it was just us two.
I remember a lot of time spent with sidewalk chalk. We used it like make up, and someone must have thought it was ok because we did it a lot. It washed off pretty well.
We tried to fly like Mary Poppins, using umbrellas to jump off the front stairs whenever it was windy.
We played hide-and-go-seek a lot. She told me that if I held my breath in a room, I might be able to hear the hider breathing. Trouble is, I always inhaled really loud so I could hold my breath for a long time…she always knew.
She would get bossy when we were playing Barbies, so I would get annoyed and go home to boss my little sister around and play how I wanted.
We would run across the front lawns of our neighbors to save time getting to each other’s houses, and walk together as slowly as possible down the sidewalk to get back.
We would go sledding down the hill in my front yard, and probably get stuck under the parked cars if we got going too fast. That’ll just happen sometimes.
(third of three posts)
ReplyDeleteOne time when we were playing in Daniele’s room, her mom wanted her help with something. We promptly hid in her closet, so Rachel changed Johnny’s diaper right in front of the closet door. She knew we were in there. It’s not like we were being quiet-we just thought we were invisible.
We had guinea pig parties with Betsy. We alternated lawns, depending on whose was getting chemically treated this week.
There was one spring break when it was ungodly hot-something like 90 degrees in the middle of March. We spend most of the week with Betsy in her basement, the coolest place we could find.
The last time I remember seeing Daniele was at an ice cream social my church was hosting. Betsy showed up with blue hair, and Daniele was half red and half blue. My 12-year-old self didn’t quite know what to make of that.
Unfortunately, all of these memories came flashing back at exactly the same moment as I was driving down Highway 36. Finally, I cried. For the good times, for the brief times we hated each other, for the loss of innocence as we grew up. I had to pull over because I couldn’t see anymore; I could barely breathe to cry. I missed my friend so much.
I am still filled with guilt, but coming to terms with the fact that most people don’t retain the friends they had when they were five. To me, her legacy is to make sure to let the important people know that they are important, they are loved, and no matter what they do they are welcome to come home.