Interior Cartography #3

Interior Cartography #3-- Second Descanso

My second descanso is dedicated to my friend Ellen. On my first day of high school, I, the nerd, cowering in the corner of the girls gymnasium, was approached by Ellen. I don't know what possessed her to approach me, but I am guessing that we both knew that Gym class was not going to be a class either of us would excel so we banded together for mutual support and complaint.

Ellen was sansei, third-generation Japanese-American. I mention this fact only because of all the nisei and sansei kids I hung out with, she was the only kid who was not quiet, self-effacing, and demure. In fact, she had the saltiest tongue I'd ever heard from a kid. She had an "in-your-face, take-no-prisoners" approach to life. On top of that, she was the first kid in my circle of friends to have her own car.

Ellen introduced me to the cultured things of the world. We went to museums, libraries, theatre-- her parents were professional people with a bit more sophistication than mine and supported such activities. Ellen introduced me to The Lord of the Rings, she had pet boa-constrictor, and she read Stephen King before he was popular. And she convinced me to go to college-- at least for a couple of years.

Ellen was also diabetic-- the Type 1 kind. I think she realized, before the rest of us, that she was not going to maintain the quality of life the rest of us took for granted. So instead of going off to a big university like her parents and sister to become a professional what-ever, she went to a local junior college to get some immediate job skills (and took me with her). After two years we both graduated and got jobs-- me, at a university, and her for a VP of a big oil company. Her job there quickly grew into a career in management and she was on a very fast track.

However, over the next three or four years, she got sicker and sicker, lost her eyesight completely, began dialysis, and was facing amputation. I, and another mutual friend, tried our best to keep her spirits up, pretending that she was going to get better some day.

One day, I got a call from her mother. Ellen had committed suicide.

There was no funeral. (Ellen hadn't wanted one). So traumatized from this event, I did not speak her name to my parents or our mutual friends for over a year. So angry was I at Ellen for leaving, that to this day I can't remember the date or even the exact year she died (I was 24 or 25 but I simply can't remember).

Over the years I've come to terms with her life and death, and right now, this minute, is the first time that I've ever committed to writing my thoughts and feeling about her death.

Ellen opened my life to the wonders of the world. Her life was short. My life is richer. God bless you, Ellen.

Lori Gloyd (c) May 19, 2006 (Postscript: I eventally went on to finish college-- thanks in part to her.)