He's Gone

When I was 12 I took up ice skating with my best friend Katie who moved to Alabama from Michigan. It was Katie who informed me that scoring in hockey is referred to as "a goal" and not "a touchdown." I was always grateful for this lesson.

In those days I wore a lot of brightly colored (mostly neon) spandex. This didn't escape the notice of one of the boys who worked at the rink and he took to calling me "Clash."

I would be sitting down, resplendent in my white tracksuit jacket with the neon patches on the sleeves, and struggling to tighten my laces when he would breeze by singing, "Claaa-ash."

I would then make a show of rolling my eyes or tossing my long hair.

His name was Danny Nunnelley and he was four years older than me. He dark hair and cheeks that would turn rosy in the cold air of the rink.

Aside from being devastatingly good looking, Danny was a kind person who was universally liked by everyone at the rink.

As my first crush, he had the dubious honor of being the object of my overwrought affections.

I agonized over not making myself look like a fool in front of him and often made a fool of myself in the process.

I strained the limits of my friendship with Katie by making her recount the painstaking details of any interactions between us that she had witnessed.

I dedicated many an hour to pining over Danny. He was the best imaginary boyfriend I ever had.

By the age of 14, all my skating clothes were in the colors of black, gray and more black. When I pointed this out to Danny, he just shrugged and said, "You're still Clash."

As time went by, we spoke less and he stopped calling me Clash. He was still friendly but there were other things going on in his life.

Whenever I skated in a competition my mother would always buy a video tape of my performance. These poorly lit, amateur-ish productions provided entire minutes of viewing pleasure for my mom and came with the added bonus of being re-playable so she could inflict them on visiting friends and family members who made the mistake of asking, "So, is your daughter still figure skating?"

My favorite of these was a video made during a competition at my home rink. In it, I have just skated to the center of the ice and am waiting for my music to start. Suddenly, in the background, Danny wanders into view and pauses on the other side of the plexiglass. He stands there watching me for a moment before shuffling off to the Zamboni room.

I used to play this part of the tape over and over again.

Years went by and the old ice rink was eventually closed down. I moved to California. Life went on.

Earlier this evening I learned that Danny passed away in Dallas, Texas on October 14, 2011.

I can't articulate the grief I'm feeling at the moment.

I begin to remember so much, so clearly.

I suppose its like this when you you've irrevocably lost someone you held dear in your childhood.

I guess the world was worth a little more to me when an old friend like Danny was still in it.

I thought of him when we played this song in our middle school band class and I'll think of him still when I hear the tune:

Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling

From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
The summer's gone, and all the flow'rs are dying
'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide.

But come ye back when summer's in the meadow
Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow
'Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow
Oh, Danny boy, oh, Danny boy, I love you so.

And if you come, and all the flowers are dying
If I am dead, as dead I well may be
I pray you'll find the place where I am lying
And kneel and say an "Ave" there for me.

And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me
And all my grave will warm and sweeter be
And then you'll kneel and whisper that you love me
And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me.