Sara, Smile. And, Rest in Peace.

Today I spent two hours standing in Sara Erichsen’s front yard, talking and laughing with old friends. Josh, Sara’s brother and one of the five official Nasty Pirates was there, as was Sara’s family and many of her friends. But I didn’t get a chance to talk with Sara today.

She died Wednesday, at the age of 34.

I knew Josh in high school, but we didn’t really start hanging out until after high school. All five Nasty Pirates — myself, Josh, Jeff, Andy and Scott — worked for Pizza Hut at some point in time. Josh and Sara’s dad Tom was divorced, single, and working nights as a nurse at the local hospital, which gave us run of the Erichsen household every single night after work. With pizza and beer in hand we would show up after dark to play computer games, listen to music, watch movies and party as only recent high school graduates have the stamina or desire to do. Along with a cast of supporting characters (Bailey, Chabby, Bill, the Twins, and a rotating cast of others), we were there every night after work. All of us, and Sara.

Despite being three years our junior, Sara was probably the most mature person at our late night soirees, cleaning up our spills, quieting us down prior to neighbor (or police) intervention, and gently kicking us out of the house night after night before sunrise. I presume getting our drunk asses out of the house by five or six in the morning gave her just enough time to tidy up before Tom returned home from the hospital. Then the lot of us would pass out, drag ourselves to school or work or both, and do it again the next night. And the next, and the next.

It only took a few times of hanging out with Sara for me to develop a crush on her. Before asking her to be my girlfriend I asked her brother’s permission, and with his blessing I wrote her one of those notes that only guys with strong feelings and weak knees can write. I can’t remember exactly what I wrote, but I can tell you exactly what her response was. “Rob, I really think you’re a terrific person. You’re cute, funny, and extremely sweet,” the note begins. I know, because I have it right here in front of me. The note ended with a sting — “I hope we can remain best friends …” — and oh, how it stung. I quickly decided having Sara in my life as a friend was better than not having her in my life at all, and so we moved on, mostly as if that awkwardness had never happened.

Throughout 1992 and 1993, the two of us remained close. In the summer of 1992 Sara visited Washington D.C., and in 1993 she visited relatives in Iowa. During both trips, she mailed me a postcard. She signed both the same way: “Love your friend always, Sara.”

As the summer of ’93 came to a close, I saw Sara one last time. During a party at her house (where else), Sara handed me a note and asked me to read it in front of her. After stating what a good friend I had been to her, it asked me to be her boyfriend. That’s when I told her I was moving sixty miles away to attend college in Weatherford. She said she understood. Then she took the note back from me. I hope somewhere, tucked away in a shoe box, she saved it like I saved mine.

We had a lot of things in common, bad timing being one of them. One week later I had packed all my belongings into my Ford Festiva and moved sixty miles west into a mobile home with two girls, one of them being Susan. The rest, as they say, is history.

Despite living in the same small town for over a decade, I only ran into Sara once. A few years ago the kids and I were shopping in Big Lots when we ran into Sara and her husband Matt. By then they’d had three kids together and Sara was pregnant with her fourth. She told me she was coaching soccer and I told her she didn’t have to give birth to the entire team on her own! We all laughed and promised to keep in touch. Sadly, we didn’t.

Last year Josh told me his sister had been diagnosed with cancer. When I asked where, he replied, “everywhere, I think.” I don’t recall the exact details but I know there was some level of concern as she was pregnant with her fifth child. Fortunately, the baby was born perfectly healthy.

Sara was not so lucky. Josh was right; the cancer spread quickly, and before long “getting her healthy” turned to “making her comfortable”. To be honest I didn’t know things were as bad as they were. According to her obituary, Sara died at home last Wednesday. “In lieu of flowers donations in Sara’s name can be made to the charity of your choice.” That sounds just like her.

Today, the family held a “come-and-go memorial gathering to celebrate Sara’s life” at her house. There, today in Sara’s front yard, we laughed. Jeff, Scott, Andy, myself and Josh stood in Sara’s front yard, talking about everything from iPhone games to playing paintball. We talked about just about everything but Sara. I did what I do; I entertained the crowd, and the crowd all laughed.

But tonight, with my pictures and my postcards and my handwritten letters and my memories and my alcohol, I cry alone.

I miss you already Sara, and I’m glad you’re not hurting anymore. Rest in peace, kid.