Photo courtesy of Savith Collure/The Hofstra Chronicle

CONTENT WARNING:

Discussions of death and grief

I got the call that Matt had died while I was in Target debating with myself about toothpaste. Dennis called me, which I promptly declined because I couldn’t decide whether I should get a travel size or a full size Sensodyne, and I assumed that Dennis wasn’t calling about anything important. Then Grant called me, and he and I joke that we only call each other when someone’s dead or someone’s heartbroken.

“Hey Grant, if I got a full sized Sensodyne tube, do you think it would get used by the others?” I shot off, before he could get a word in.

“Yup, plus you just take home the extra,” he said without missing a beat. Grant has always been a sensible guy. “Also, Matt’s dead, he passed away in Texas yesterday.”

We both said nothing for a minute or so. I put down the travel size tube and asked him if that’s why Dennis called. “Probably, they stayed in touch,” he said.

We said nothing for another minute or so. “Okay Grant! I’ll see you in Cherry Springs in like six hours,” I chirped and promptly hung up the phone.

I stood in the same aisle for a few minutes, and then looked down at the Sensodyne. I still needed to check out; I could call Dennis from the car for the longer conversation.

A couple friends and I were all driving out to Galeton, Pennsylvania, to see Cherry Springs. It’s the clearest state park to observe the Milky Way east of the Ohio River, and Grant had been asking to go camping there for months.

Seeing that there were nine of us, we decided to split an Airbnb instead, opting for the comfortable choice. Driving five and a half hours west is a great way to think or avoid thinking and go through every alt rock album you know.

I’m not particularly good with processing death. I conceptually understand what it means, what it could mean for others and how to comfort others. I just struggle with the feelings for it.

I’m no stranger to it; my first funeral was at 15 for a friend that was 14. He was walking to the bus stop, and his heart just stopped. Imagine, at 15, going to your first open wake to see someone you spent every day with the week before.

It didn’t really seem real. Over the past five years I’ve been to more funerals than I have fingers, including my thumbs. You get used to it after a while.

We got to Cherry Springs at around 8 p.m. on a Thursday. Some of us started setting up the house. We spent most of the night talking about Matt, our other friends and our families and catching up.

I woke up around six in the morning, seeing Grant and the others stirring as well. Grant and I both eyed each other, eyed the bathroom door and then bolted. I did not get to use the toothpaste first.

Grant and I talked about it a little bit. About Matt and growing up. We had all been in the same friend group since we were kids; I’ve known Grant since I was 8 years old.

We all grew up in the same neighborhood in Wilmington: on the same bikes, in the same schools and doing the same extracurriculars. We all ran cross country together. Matt was the first person to teach me how to play guitar.

Weezer? That was Matt. The Strokes? Also Matt. How to absolutely strike out at talking to girls? Unfortunately, that was both of us.

I moved to New York when I was 16 and left Matt and the rest of the guys back in Delaware. We stayed close as long as we could, but sometimes relationships fade with distance. It’s hard to keep in touch sometimes.

I wish I tried harder. Both my parents cried when I told them he died, my sister too. I never cried, or I guess I just couldn’t.

Grant and I lay on the field in the park with a few others. There was some idle conversation here and there; we were mainly just taking in the ocean of stars in front of us. If you squint it feels like the stars are moving, and when shooting stars pass its feels like a ripple.

Planets, galaxies, nebula trails, you can almost see everything. Almost.