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Friday, September 24, 2010

Squirrel

Two weeks from yesterday, October 6th, will be the two year anniversary of my best friend’s suicide. There were four of us. Three freshman boys and a junior girl; we hung out and did almost everything together. We had four very separate and distinct personalities; you wouldn’t think we’d get along. Our bond was so strong we called ourselves “The Tribe” we even went on a spirit quest together to find our spirit animals, and we called each other by those names. I was Owl, I thought I knew everything, obsessed with politics, history, and was all about my American Indian roots. He was Squirrel, Rasta man, rapper, owned his own turn tables, loved to dance like a maniac, and he would jump into a philosophical discussion at the drop of a hat. The other boy was Rooster, a former jock who discovered his talent for music and love of marijuana during high school. He got his name for always being “a little cocky”. Then there was the girl, Raccoon, champion water polo player and yoga master. So, the next year, when we had the opportunity to move onto our school’s environmental campus we snatched it up as soon as we could. We got a four bedroom farmhouse on the lake and we were sooo stoked. By this point Rooster and Raccoon were dating which was awesome but they were often together which led Squirrel and I to get even closer. We would swim or paddle out to the island and smoke and talk about philosophy and life. Sometimes we would camp out there. We would have family dinners and parties with our neighbors. Every week there was dancing at the barn when the whole community would come out. They were some of the happiest moments of my life.
Raccoon was graduating that year and by the middle of spring term it became clear Rooster and I were not happy and we weren’t going to come back to school the next year. One night, Squirrel, Rooster, stayed up all night talking about our lives and where we were going. It was during this moment; sitting around the kitchen table at 4am, I knew I was sitting with my brothers. They were my family. The music was playing but there was a very long time when we held hands, trying to just appreciate each others presence. We wanted to accept that moment knowing there wouldn’t be many more like it.
The next year the four of us went our separate ways. I went to a farm in New Hampshire. Rooster lived in Maine with Raccoon for the summer then moved to Colorado. After the summer Raccoon went to Costa Rica to teach yoga. Squirrel stayed at school sharing a house in town with a few of our other friends. The last time I spoke to him we were making plans to visit each other.
I got the call a week later. The next few days I spent much of the time on the phone, friends and acquaintances were calling me offering condolences and sharing information. Rooster, Raccoon and I got back in touch and made plans to go to the funeral and we shared a hotel room. We shared our favorite Squirrel stories and took a picture of us to be buried with him along with a dream catcher we made and his favorite guitar pick.
After that, Rooster, Raccoon, and I promised to keep in touch with each other no matter what. This past winter we lived together in Vail, Colorado. Summers we make sure we have time to get together, and we always take time to remember our brother Squirrel. Rooster will say how he swears he saw him dancing crazy at a funk show he went to. Raccoon saw him swimming in the ocean in Costa Rica, and I saw him last week, driving his tiny black car, bobbing his head, blasting his crazy music for everyone to smile and dance to.
-Three Feathers

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