Eulogy

There was someone I knew for a short, but long time. Someone who was different, much different than any other person I've ever met. Not because she liked a certain kind of music, nor because she liked art. Not because she liked ice cream and french fries. Even though she did.

She made art out of life, out of luck, out of time.

Unlike myself, she was always running out of time. Running out of life, and never had any luck. And all of that shaped her, and ended up changing me too. She lived, like there was no tomorrow. Because for her, there might not be. Maybe that's only half true, but I'll explain that later on.

I first met Alex through a friend of mine, James. Crazy fellow, always known for breaking rules intelligently. Someone I admired. He'd talked about her like he admired her, and I felt I had to do the same. If James admired anyone, they had to be interesting.

I wasn't wrong.

When she stepped onto the train, I didn't believe it was her. She was dressed as if she was just working on Wall Street.
First words are sometimes a very good judgement of someone's character.

"So, who's this statue James?"

We ended up going to a racing meet that night. I didn't have a car to drive, just tagged along for the adrenaline. When James uncovered Alex's silver BMW Imported Twin Supercharged Silver X5, it was just as astonishing as her initial appearance.

"Re-built it myself."
"I'm impressed, Alex."
"You would be."

I'd driven with James before. A man who knew the limits of his car and his driving. Wrecklessly safe.

I decided I'd ride with Alex. A decision that would change my life.

It was the first time that I've ever had a conversation with someone at 130+ miles per hour, completely calm and regular. The first time that I've heard someone quote Niechtze while listening to a russian piano sonata, with their life coming so close to ending. But not. I grew to know that feeling, to love that feeling. I rode with Alex for at least two more race meets, and each time it was the same. She was able to outwit me in advanced conversation, without losing focus on keeping us from being wrapped around a tree.

It was poetic how she handled herself, how she drove, how she lived. Beautiful poetry. Vivd, deep and meaningful to those lucky enough to witness it.

I watched her stand up to guys that had cars far more powerful and maneuverable than her. And still come out ahead. Why?
Had she lacked the fear that plagues us all? Fear of death? No. That fear was greater in her, than in anyone else I've known.

One night, doing many times over the speed limit in upper New Jersey, she told me.

"I'm dying... Much faster than you. Or at least I hope so. For the first time in my life, I'm actually afraid."
"If you're afraid, then I'm much more afraid. Because you aren't afraid of anything. You're strong though. Much stronger than
anybody I've met. And smart as well. You can't go wrong either way."
"You are so naive sometimes."

It made sense, in an odd way. I didn't realize it at first.

She called me one night, quite late. She said she needed something, and that I should come up to meet her at New Paltz. It was a long drive, but I was willing to do it. Why? I guess it was because I felt urgency in it.

We in a parking lot next to the southbound Interstate. Me, in my beat up 92' Honda. Her in her amazing, new X5.

"Follow. And try and keep up, if you can... And Phil... Watch your back okay?"

That night we raced, and I pushed my car faster than I ever have and ever will again. I far exceeded it's recommended limits, the state's recommended limits, my life's recommended limits. Instead of letting the adrenaline take over my mind, I listened to piano sonatas, and mulled over existentialism.

Our paths intertwined all over that Interstate, flying at incredible speeds. So close to death and yet so alive. Unbelievably alive. Weaving in and out of unsuspecting road warriors, people stuck in monotone.

I was freed from the bounds of being afraid of death. I accepted my life for what it was. I accepted what little time I have, what little time we all have. We continued until I reached my home, almost over two hours.

We stopped in a field on the side of the road. We sat on the hood of her car. She hugged me.

"Thank you, Old friend. I feel like someone finally understands me. All I hear is how sorry everyone is. I wanted to live, that's all. And I have. Thank you for being my companion in that, thank you for risking your life all of those times. Thank you for everything."

I said this to her, and I'll say it again.

"Thank you Alex. Thank you for showing me that living like there is no tomorrow, really is so much better. Really is an amazing feeling. Thank you for not giving up hope, not until the very end. Thank you for being who you are. Thank you for this trip, especially. And I'll miss you, deeply old friend."

She had an art out of living, out of savoring coming close, but missing. Savoring the terribly good luck that we all suffer from.

For Alex, never let moments slip away. Live, because you can and she can't.

I'll miss you. We all will.

Until we meet again, old friend.