I know you, Derek
This is a letter to my friend Derek, who we never got to say goodbye to.
By Josh Towner | Journalism Major
I know you, Derek. You’re one of Kevin’s older brothers. You’re the guy who showed up to our volleyball games, even though you never played volleyball and never went to the same high school as us.
You’re the kind of guy who has fun doing anything, like when you dug through the dumpster behind Dunkin’ Donuts and started a food fight with what you found.
You could even have fun losing games of Spikeball. That was the first time we hung out. I was 15 and you were 19 and infinitely cooler than I’d ever be. You were growing beards since 16 and dated more girls in the span of two months than I had in my whole life. We were awful Spikeball teammates, but the mantra, “you can’t win on a serve,” kept us playing together for the whole afternoon. We were so annoying. Kevin was so mad at us for not accepting that we lost, but we were having fun and didn’t care.
I remember that New Years Eve party in 2017. You told everyone who would listen about getting in trouble for snowmobiling in your neighborhood, again. I smoked you in Dutch Blitz and you smacked me in the minute-to-win-it games. You showed me how you were taking apart every electrical item in your bedroom so you could have a Google operated “smart room.” You insisted that I sleep on your top bunk even though it meant you had to move your dismembered ceiling fan. When we tried to go to sleep, you kept talking to Google.
“Google, turn on the lights.”
“Google, set an alarm.”
“Google, turn off the lights.”
“Google, tur — ”
“Dude. Shut up.”
“Good night, Google.”
That night we talked about exes, video production and everything the future held for young guys like us. We were going to do so much. “I feel like you and I are like the same,” you said. You were still half drunk on champagne, but that stayed with me. If I could be you, I could do anything. I could be Derek Dean, the video editor that everyone loved. That night, you made me feel like your best friend. But that’s not just how you made me feel. That’s how you make us all feel.
Everyone said so, anyways.
I remember Kevin’s 21st birthday party, the last time I saw you. You were drunk and sweaty and full of joy. I was three hours late but you were so excited to show me the video of your beard getting stuck in the beer can you were shotgunning. Before too long, Kevin was keeled over a garbage can. You were the one patting his back and holding his glasses for him. In that moment I wished I had a brother like you. Now, I wish anyone could say they had you as their brother.
What if you went snowmobiling instead? What if, like the pastor said, your favorite movie had been on? Or what if it had been snowing? Would you still have gone? What if you hadn’t even wanted to touch your motorcycle the day after Christmas? What if it hadn’t been so unseasonably warm? What if you had gone just one mile an hour slower the whole time? I bet you wouldn’t have even seen the truck.
What if the truck never hit you?
Why was it you the truck hit?
I wasn’t even that close to you. If I miss you this much, I can’t even imagine how your close friends feel feel, much less your brothers.
We love you, Derek.