Remembering Beans.

Twenty-two years ago, I was naive and had never experienced a tragic death.

What does that mean? To me, it meant that up to that point the only people I'd known who had died were either old or I didn't know them well. On September 30, 1990, that all changed. I received a phone call in the wee hours of the morning. My best friend had died in a car accident. She was 22 years old. She'd just graduated from college that May, had just started working her first "professional" job and was engaged to be married. In other words, she'd only had the barest taste of her adult life.

Back in 1982, during my freshman year of high school, I was seated behind Carleen Verstraete in French class. Alphabetical seating; a simple coincidence. That attendance-taking convenience for Mr. O'Connor changed my life.  I'm sure we were seated next to each other in other classes too, but French was where our friendship began. We quickly became as thick as thieves and remained that way until the day she died.

Carleen was the kindest person I ever met. She was not a saint by any means; she had a mischievous streak a mile wide and ten miles deep. However, she didn't have a truly mean bone in her body. She didn't care if someone was a jock, a brain, a stoner, or just an average kid. She talked to everyone. She was nice to everyone. Her smile lit up the room. I know you've heard that phrase before, and it sounds cliched. I don't know how to describe it adequately. When she was happy, truly happy, it was a sight to behold.

She was smart, but she had to study. Hard. She spent hours and hours working on homework, mostly at the kitchen table. She earned every single A she ever received, unlike me and some of our other friends. Where we would coast, she'd never think to do that. Integrity. She had it in droves.

Teenage angst? Yes, without a doubt, she suffered through it. She never thought she was thin enough, pretty enough, smart enough. She never saw herself the way the rest of us saw her, how beautiful she really was. I think she was finally, thankfully, growing into comfort in her own skin when she died.

I remember how much she loved fashion. She loved anything new and trendy, but always on the conservative side. Especially socks and shoes. One of her fundamental fashion rules (yes, there were rules and there were many) was that her socks had to exactly match her outfit. No "close enough." Off-white and cream are not the same color. Purses and belts were important too. It's the details that make or break an outfit, according to the rules of Carleen. And earrings! She had so many different colors, but here favorite pair was fairly plain - just a circle, half white, half gold. They had to be lined up just so when she wore them. We went to a lot of 2 for 1 sales, and as a result many of our clothes and shoes matched - they were just different colors.

Carleen was a happy athlete. She loved volleyball and basketball. She wasn't the star on the team, but she always gave her all. She never let her teammates down.

What I remember the most is how affectionate she always was. She was quick with a hug, whether needed or not. It was a breath of fresh air whenever Carleen walked into a room. She would try almost anything at least once. She was full of courage and trust.

Carleen and I shared hopes, dreams, troubles and secrets. We helped each other stay focused and confident. We believed in each other.  Carleen was one of my cornerstones. I treasure the eight years we had together, and I grieve for the outstanding woman she would have been today.

I miss her companionship. I've missed her every single day.

One of the letters I received from her in February, 1989, closed with, "April, I miss you a whole bunch and I wish I could call you up and talk to you for hours like we used to." Ditto, Carleen. Ditto.