Words

Everything on this page somehow reminded me of Max. Whether they were the touching eulogies, lyrics or poems and stories written by his friends, the following all represent feelings surrounding the life and death of Max. If you'd like to include your own writing, please email us.

Eulogy for Max Kolb -- By Tom Kolb

As many of you know, Max loved the movies. In the last few weeks I’ve come to find out why – he was a filmmaker. And since I’m an attorney, I’ll prove it to you.

Since you were a filmmaker Max, and since I aspired to become one earlier in my life, my tribute to you takes the form of scenes form a movie – you might say the movie of Max’s life – as seen from his father’s point of view.

SCENE ONE –

Max was the happiest baby I could ever imagine. I’m sure he cried from time to time, just like other babies, and got fussy and difficult. But my overwhelming recollection of Max during his first 3 years of existence is of a child who wore a continual smile on his sweet little face. I reminded his mom the other day about the time she and I vacationed with Max in Bar Harbor, Maine, when Max was just a few months old. I woke up rather early, just after the sun came up. I looked over at Max in his crib. There he was, already awake, beaming that sunny smile of his. I must have stared at him for a good 15 minutes, both of us grinning form ear to ear - not even cooing or saying a word so we wouldn’t wake his mom. When I reminded Lisa of this, she said: “Tom, didn’t you admit to waking him up just so you could play with him?” Maybe, maybe I did, I honestly can’t remember now. But it wasn’t to play with him, Lisa – it was just to see that sunny smile.

SCENE 2 -

This is a 45-second montage sequence in which we have a series of scenes form Max’s childhood, each one flashing across the screen in a dizzying crescendo, intercut with pages filled with dates from a calendar, each falling away to indicate the passage of time. Real Hollywood stuff. Images of schools, summer camp, days at Oqunquit Beach building sand castles, a Bar Mitzvah, a high school graduation….

SCENE 3 –

Hofstra University, Fall of 1999. The Hofstra Years. My God ….. we’re barely minutes into this movie and it’s almost over, just 2 short years ago! But … I simply had to cut to the chase. I wanted to share with you the pure joy that has been the last 2 years of my experience of Max B. Kolb.

SCENE 3 begins with a flashback. During the years that Max attended his beloved sleepaway camp, I tried to encourage him to learn tennis. It’s a game I’d always loved since childhood, and I hoped he would too.

Max could never seem to get himself there, and as the camp years went by, he resisted ever more strenuously --until I simply gave up on tennis and focused on other things with him.

Imagine my delight when, around a year ago, home from college, Max expressed an interest in hitting the old tennis ball around with Dad, just to check out this tennis thing he’d been resisting all these years.

These images slowly fade, as the image of a little island off Key West, Florida, comes into view. It is January, 2001. Just 3 short months ago. A ferry boat pulls up to the dock at the Marriott Resort on Sunset Key. The 5 family members – Max, his father, his step-mom Diane, and his two older brothers, Danny and Alan – the “Wellesley family”, step ashore to begin a five-day family vacation. We had our little bungalow, the ocean, the beach, sailboats, a swimming pool – and two tennis courts. Every morning the dad awakes at 7 AM, awaiting the first of his children to arise, whereupon he cajoles this mostly willing victim onto the tennis court to challenge his dad. A little while later, the other 2 boys arrive on Court 2. After appropriate warm-ups, the dad and his youngest son Max team-up to challenge the two older brothers in doubles.

They play doubles, in another Hollywood MONTAGE SEQUENCE. A flurry of tennis shots… high fives… pumping of fists… laughter – sheer joy in a father’s heart, in a family’s heart.

It’s no secret to many of you -- well, now it’s no longer a secret to any of you, that despite the fact that since the tender age of 5 Max had had extended to him an open invitation to be a full fledged member of his Wellesley family, it was difficult for him. Navigating the world of 2 different households can’t be easy for any child. And for the longest time Max found it hard to give us a piece of himself that we so desperately longed for.

Here we FREEZE FRAME ON A CLOSE-UP OF MAX: Racquet poised, ready to strike a forehand. Dear viewer: hold this image in your mind for a moment with me – as Max is poised to hit that forehand.

VOICEOVER: Narrator, dad: “Max you are my ideal doubles partner. You may not yet have the skill, but you have the desire to play this game. This pleases your dad and you know it. No. It’s better even than that – you have the desire to be a full-fledged member of your Wellesley family. We are so happy for you, all of us, that you are finally able to give us the gift of yourself.”

Now unfreeze the image, and Max, the novice tennis player, hits a perfectly placed forehand down the line, into the doubles alley, that goes whizzing past his brother’s ear. Point: Max and dad. If you are a tennis player, and maybe even if you’re not, you know the feeling of hitting that perfect shot. Sometimes you play an entire match just for that one shot. Max, we waited almost your entire lifetime to share that moment with you. It was worth every minute.

For his 20th birthday, barely 2 months ago, I gave Max a brand new tennis racquet and got him lessons with a pro at a nearby tennis facility on Long Island, near the college. I cleared it with him first to make sure it wasn’t too pushy an idea. He loved those lessons and was working on his backhand, he told me, and his serve. We had a date to play tennis on the Sunday I was to see him. The Sunday after the Tuesday that he disappeared.

HERE THE FILM BREAKS VISIBLY in the projection machine. The screen fills with the blinding white light of the bulb. Just as suddenly, the bulb begins to flicker… and then fade. The screen is plunged in darkness. There is silence.

I need you to understand one thing about how I am coping with this terrible, terrible tragedy. As the Rabbis will tell you, this is not the natural order of things: a parent should NEVER have to bury his child.

I do not wish to know the details of my son’s death. If it’s details you want, go read the newspapers. I choose to remember my son’s life, not his death. I choose to remember the many joys he gave me, that he gave to all of us who knew and loved him.

So let me share with you this one last joy.

Let me read an excerpt from the shooting script for the short film by Max Kolb called “Blinding Heather.” It was his final project for his film course this semester. I know he was very proud of this little project.

SCENE ONE: DAYTIME. A STREET.

And here I’ll quote from the script:

“JOHN is a typical love-struck 18 year-old-boy, clad in jeans and a long- sleeve shirt, and wearing a backpack. He is walking home from school. Taking smaller and slower steps than a normal boy his age. He glances at his watch, and then eyes the end of the block. After a few more steps, he repeats this process.

HEATHER the girl of John’s dreams also has on… jeans, a long-sleeve shirt, and a backpack… but somehow makes it look SEXY. She crosses the street at the end of the block. John notices her, and picks up his pace. He then turns the corner, and walks on the other side of the street, but a few steps behind, so as not to catch her eye.” End quote

So here is our shy young man, John, love-struck, as the author says, with a girl named Heather. The girl of his dreams. And she is oh so pretty - she makes jeans and a backpack look sexy. But John is too shy to let her notice him, to let her notice him noticing her.

I don’t want to spoil the story for you so I’ll let you read it for yourself. There are copies for you as you leave the synagogue. [Text of shooting script is attached.]

I just want to tell you how blown away I was when I read this little film script. Granted I’m his father. But this little script, only three pages long, contains a range of emotion -- bravery, tenderness, betrayal, disillusionment, acceptance of one’s faults, acceptance of the faults of others, a longing for intimacy --- the fullness of life.

I’ll give this part away to you without guilt – there’s a happy ending. Max, I am so happy for you – because I now know what you’ve been doing down there at Hofstra these past 2 years. You were busy -- maybe for the first time in your life -- starting to write those happy endings for yourself, starting to believe that you could write those happy endings for yourself.

And how you wrote them! In your academics, you got yourself on the Dean’s list practically from Day One of your Freshman Year – and you stayed there.

In your social life, connecting yourself to other kids, the kids who came here today to pay tribute to you. That little baby with the sunny disposition – now a young adult.

Connecting yourself to the members of you family who so desperately longed for a closer relationship with you, your Wellesley family, your Dad… What a sheer delight to talk with you on the phone every weekend!

It’s funny – I don’t think I ever saw a single paper you wrote in high school or college. I've seen plenty of papers your older brothers wrote, which they asked me to critique for them – and some they probably didn’t ask me to critique. Let me now give you, my dear son, my critique of your movie script.

Max, I am in awe of your script. I am in awe of you. I wouldn’t change a single word.

I’m sorry we never got to play tennis on that Sunday in Long Island. I know we’ll make it up to each other some day.

Eulogy for Max Kolb -- By Alan Zibel

I wanted to come up here today to talk about some of my memories of Max, because about the only thing that we can do in the face of such pain is to think about and remember what a special guy he was.

I first met Max when he was four years old. I was 11, and my mom was dating this weird new guy who would later become my wonderful stepfather, Tom.

I guess I figured if my mom was going to get married, I might as well get a cool stepbrother out of it. And I did.

When I met him, Max had curly brown hair and an angelic little face. One of my earliest memories of him is in a Chinese restaurant in Watertown. Max would walk around the restaurant talking to people sitting at their tables. We called it ``making friends.’’ Max is ``off making friends,’’ we’d say.

We all remember the time we went sailing and Tom had to tie Max, who was sleeping at the time, to the boat. We remember skiing trips to Sunday River in Maine. We remember going to Key West this winter and playing touch football in front of our bungalow. Tom joked that we were like the Kennedys.

I remember how, on that trip to Florida, I realized how gentle Max was. He easily beat me at arm wrestling, yet he would never fight back if I gave him a little sock to the stomach.

We all remember how Max had started taking tennis lessons, so he could improve his game, stop running around his backhand and compete with the rest of the family. We remember how, for some reason, Max decided that his e-mail address should be "Mung Chide." I never had any idea what it meant.

A month ago, while Max was on spring break, he came out to visit me in California. We had never really hung out alone for several days before, and it worked out great. We walked around Chinatown, went to the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, went on a hike. He played frisbee with my friends. We snuck him into a bar one night and got him a margarita. He was hanging out with people who were 26, 27, even 30 years old and acting comfortable and mature. I was proud of him.

I remember how Max insisted on visiting the TransAmerica Pyramid in downtown San Francisco. There’s no observation deck there, but on the bottom floor there are four TV screens connected to video cameras. With a remote control, you can operate the cameras, scanning and zooming back and forth through the city. Max was fascinated by this. We stayed there for at least a half-hour.

Max also couldn’t get enough of the Exploratorium, the famous hands-on science museum in San Francisco. We stayed there for about five hours, as Max played with science experiment after science experiment. That day I had horrible allergies. I was sneezing every 30 seconds and felt truly miserable. But Max kept himself happy. My nose was running like a geyser, but he didn’t bother me or act disappointed. He was just happy to be hanging out together.

Perhaps the hardest thing about this tragedy is that it feels like Max was just coming into his own as a young man, just getting established with a cool group of friends, just starting a relationship with a young woman. He was changing from a kid who spent way too much time playing video games to a mature college student with a bright future ahead.

There’s really nothing I can say to make it all make sense. I just take comfort in the fact that our family is strong and loving, that we have supportive friends, and that we’ll all remember for the rest of our lives what a special, sweet person Max was. We will miss him very much.

Eulogy for Max Kolb -- By Laura Fu

I may have only been friends with Max for a couple of months, but I'd like to say that we were pretty close. What can I say about Max...there were so many things to love about him. I met Max in what he told me was his first college class ever, media asthetics, back in the fall of 1999. Right away I knew there was something I liked about him, but I was too shy to say anything outside of class.

Then, this past February, the 20th to be exact, he happened to be on the same train to the city as me and my friends from Entertainment Unlimited. I got enough courage to say hi, and it made me so happy when he said he remembered me from that class. Turns out he was trying to get into Letterman while me and another friend had actual tickets. We hung out for the whole day, and though he didn't get into the audience, he managed to get on camera at the Pizzeria across from the Letterman studio.

Ever since that day, I've had the most fun doing several things with Max. We went to the the movies, we went to the city, sometimes I would just drop by his room and he'd very courteously invite me in and we'd watch TV or he'd show me all his special gadgets on his computer. But whenever I'd come by, even if I didn't call first, he'd stop what he was doing, which was usually studying, and spend some time with me. Except on Thursday nights at 8, during Survivor. I knew not to disturb him then. But still, I'd invite him to campus events on a Thursday night, and he'd show up telling me he set his VCR.

There were other times when I'd invite him to the office of Entertainment Unlimited and he would stay and play card games or listen to music with a group of us until 3 am.

As many of you know, he shot his class film project recently. I was so flattered when he asked me to be the lead female role, but I declined because the last thing I wanted to do was kiss another guy in front of Max. I did help him for the entire shoot though, and I had a bit part.

One of the greatest days of my life was when the two of us went to the city to see The Producers. It was just the two of us the entire day, and he showed me some places he liked such as the Sony Building, where he played with a Playstation 2 for almost an hour. We had dinner at Planet Hollywood and then saw the show. He was on his way to San Fransisco the next day to stay for the rest of spring break, so I decided I wanted to express my feelings to him before he left. I was too shy to say exactly what I wanted, but he hugged me and said he'd send me a postcard, which he did.

The Sunday night before he disappeared, a group of us took another trip to the city, this time to see the filming of a movie. Max was completely awe-struck by the size of the production. He even walked through the crew and set, pretending to be a passer-by just to get a closer look at the cameras. That was another great night I was able to spend with Max.

On the drive back from the train station, our friend's car was a bit crowded, so Max offered for me to sit on his lap, which I obviously did. For those ten minutes, as he held me and joked around, I realized how badly I wanted him to be part of my life.

The next evening I finally found the courage to go to his room and tell him. It felt so good to finally let him know how I felt, but it felt even better when he expressed mutual feelings. We made plans for the rest of the week, and I said goodbye, not knowing that it would be the last time I ever saw Max.

I'm so thankful to have known Max and that I had the chance to tell him my feelings. I miss him so much, and I hope he's remembering me where ever he is.

For Max - Laura Fu

Three pairs of eyes burned into my skin, not including his.
Breathing space tediously dwindled as forces of nature urged us towards intimacy.
Ever so slightly I raised my fist, the back of my hand facing his gentle expression.
The seconds froze and my chin sank to my chest, but my eyes stayed level with his.
I looked at my hand, then his gaze, and back again, for in an instant the feeling would be over.
Impatient and petrified with excitement, recent dreams flashed before me.
The unimaginable came true as he gently held my outstretched arm.
My stare met his, and those moist lips found my trembling hand.
Butterflies fleeted from the cage in my stomach.
My affection released itself and met with similar warmth.
My chest could barely contain my pounding heart.
His tenderness could not hide that crooked grin.
We settled back into our spots, already recalling our shared memory.

The Thing I Used to Lack - Laura Fu

I'm sorry that I'm sorry.
I sometimes fear my fear.
Tell me what you want to say,
Not what I want to hear.

My heart has been a lonely place
these twenty odd years of life,
But I've always had that dream
to someday be a wife.

What you've said is new to me;
I've never felt this way.
The words repeat inside my head,
it takes me to the day

The day I first felt I belonged,
the taste was oh so sweet.
Don't you see what you have done?
You've swept me off my feet.

Trust is hard for me to find,
it stems back to my past.
Doubt prevails no matter what,
once lost, I'm free at last.

"Listen to yourself," they say,
"And go with what feels right."
As hard as I do really try,
I freeze just at the sight.

The hair and smile and lazy strutt,
to me it all appeals.
My capacity to love awakes,
but still my mind conceals

What I really feel inside--
how can I explain?
Afraid to voice my deep-down thoughts,
afraid of feeling pain.

Afraid to see what might be there,
but also what may not.
In search of things I never knew,
such common things I've sought.

Like any other girl on earth,
I've dreamed a lover's dream.
We are nothing by ourselves
'cause two create the team

Movies, music, books and stage,
I'd seen how love played out.
Atleast I thought I understood
what feelings were about.

But now I've lived it all first hand,
and I just can't go back
to never knowing what it was
this thing I used to lack.

The Dogwood Grove - Laura Fu

       I hate the fall because it’s always so gloomy and cold, but today was an exception. The sky was a brilliant blue and only a light breeze sifted through the air as I stepped off the bus. The day had finally come; I was visiting Ethan for the first time in months. I wondered if he would remember me or if our distance from one another had faded our relationship. Nevertheless, I impatiently headed into town.
        The visit was going to be a short one, and all I had carried with me that afternoon was my shoulder bag and a card for Ethan. We hadn’t even planned anything, but I really wanted to talk with him because it had been so long since we had confided in each other like we used to. The end of our last school year together was hectic, and we never got a chance to say good-bye. There was a particular tree that I recall him describing as his favorite because of its beauty and serenity, and I thought it was the perfect place to meet him to catch up with each other’s lives.
        His town was a quiet one, even for a Sunday, and I wasn’t familiar with the area. I took out an unused but worn scrap of paper on which Ethan had neatly written directions for one of my many failed visits. According to his instructions, a five-minute walk down this street, creatively named Main Street, would lead me straight into the center of town, where I would easily see the park. It was the most prominent landmark in town. Ethan had invited me to come down one weekend last semester to attend an annual Festival. Although the thought of being outdoors in the pollen filled air, surrounded by screaming babies and childish games did not agree with my personality, I was looking forward to spending time with Ethan. Unfortunately, that was one of those visits that never happened.
        A calm and empty road, Main Street, headed through the center of town beyond which lay huge blueberry fields and forests of coloring leaves. The long drive here began in the city by our school and continued past the state border and through modern suburbs and nearby fields. It was a wonderful coincidence that two out-of-staters like us found our way to the same University. Thank goodness I took a bus, I thought to myself, because I never would have found this place, even with Ethan’s map.
        I continued down Main Street, gazing at the window displays and personalized doormats of each store, picturing Ethan growing up surrounded by this overwhelming charm. His intelligence, patience and good manners must have been a result of his cultured, although sheltered, childhood. The diversity and welcome hospitality apparent all around me was but one explanation for the perfect guy I had finally found in Ethan.
        A large sign on the right side of the street told me that North Grove, Massachusetts had only grown to include 3,981 citizens since its establishment in 1801. Ethan had told me stories about his hometown, and I suddenly remembered one instance in which he described, with gentle enthusiasm, the origin of the town’s name. After the discovery of a single, small grove of dogwood trees in a field of pines and maples, a modest community had formed. This grove became the center of town, around which most of the less than unique trees were cut down to make room for the little town. Ethan had told me that dogwoods were his favorite trees, and this was where I was going to meet him.
        Ethan had an exceptional appreciation for nature and life in general. I loved this most distinct trait in his personality because he respected all the simple pleasures in life and enjoyed what he felt fortunate to have. We once had a deep discussion about the never-ending negativity in our daily news, and we agreed that our goal in life was to rid the world of violence. Although it was an impractical idea, he was a dedicated individual who kept his word and was always there for me. We actually met in a meeting for the Environmental Protection Agency at school, and Ethan had previously volunteered for local organizations around North Grove.
        Only a few residents had found themselves outside at this hour. A tender elderly couple said hello as they strolled down the sidewalk past me. A family with two small girls wearing matching white dresses came briskly from behind me, pardoned themselves, and hurried ahead down Main Street. That’s when I noticed the sign: “Randolph Park.”
        I turned my attention towards the large iron gates marked “entrance,” stopped to look both ways and carefully crossed the road into which Main Street ended. Both directions were lined with vacant cars, but I didn’t see a single person in the park. I stopped underneath the wide gates and looked at the open, grassy field. The eponymous grove sat straight ahead of me. This is so Ethan, I thought to myself.
        The small grounds were well kept, and it appeared to be a favorite place in this small community. There were several benches scattered throughout the area, and flowers lined the outside fences. I forgot to bring a blanket, but nothing could ruin this day because it was almost impossible to upset Ethan.
        A few paths wound themselves around gardens and markers. I stepped up to the nearest one and leaned in to read the deteriorating stone. It read: “In Memory of Templeton Dean; Husband, Son and North Grove Citizen; 1881”. The only thing left of this man who had lived and died so many years ago was this molding rock, and I feared the day when I would be another forgotten name. The thought of having my own marker somewhere some day sent chills down my spine, so I walked back to the path and continued towards the grove.
        The excitement I had for our rendezvous became overwhelming as I came up to the grove, and my heart beat faster with each step I took. Dogwoods at this time of year begin to turn their various colors, and I witnessed the grove’s beauty float down into the vibrant carpet of petals and leaves. A few pink and white flowers blew delicately in the autumn wind or clung to the thin, twisted branches of the smaller shrubs.
        There he was, all alone, beneath one of the dogwood trees. Bright petals surrounded him, and memories of our times together flashed before my teary eyes. This was such a peaceful setting that it felt too perfect to be real, and I wiped my eyes to make sure I was seeing correctly. Ethan was waiting there for me like he had promised. I sat myself down on the autumn floor and waited for the right moment to speak.
        “It’s been so long, Ethan. I’ve missed you,” I whispered. A breeze came up and tossed my hair into my face. I tucked the hanging strands behind my ears while he replied in agreement. It was silent for a moment, so I decided to share some of my thoughts and feelings like we used to.
        “I really like this place. It’s...it’s very nice. You chose a beautiful spot,” I said. “I wish I had packed a blanket or brought something else to do, but just spending some time together is what I was really looking forward to.”
        The noontime sun shone strong on us, and the light wind from the lake was only occasional. It was warmer than usual for this time of year, and it reminded me of a trip we made to California last spring break. So many things today seemed abnormal, but then again, what is “normal” anyways?
        “These last few months have been lonely without you around,” I confessed. “It’s hard to have fun anymore when I’m at home, knowing that you’re way out here, all alone.”
       I continued. “But at least we got lucky with the weather today.” Unfortunately, I forgot my sunglasses and I was getting tired of squinting so much. “Maybe you could do something about the sun, though. It’s a bit too bright,” I joked. On the end of my last word, the wind grew stronger. The light breeze turned into a steady but comfortable current of air. It was just enough to reposition the branches of the dogwoods and shade my eyes from the sun. I smiled. “Gee, thanks! You always were a great listener.”
        One might think that a good speaker like me and a patient listener like Ethan would easily complement each other, but we never reached the point of intimacy that we both wanted. The common trait that brought us together was also the unfortunate enemy that kept us apart: our shyness. When we were together, we had been more than just best friends. We were each other’s confidants. I had never asked him about his personal feelings because I was afraid I might lose something I truly loved, and I think he felt the same way.
        A church bell sounded nearby and I turned my head towards the main gate through which I had entered. There was a small brick building on the far end of the park, and several hushed individuals converged outside on the grass. I watched them for a few quiet moments. They stood beneath another tree and bowed their heads. Their collective pain could be felt in the gentle breeze that continued to cool my face and dry my tears. I turned back to Ethan.
        “I miss you so much, Ethan,” I repeated, my eyes scanning the words on the marker in front of me: “Ethan Gregory Brooks: 1979-1999; Son, Brother, Friend.” It seemed too simple an inscription for my friend because it was impossible to memorialize such a bright and extraordinary person in a single phrase.
        The sounds of life all around brought me back to reality. Lively chipmunks and birds, the whistling breeze, and the peaceful stillness of the grove, Ethan had finally found the utopia that he strove to experience. I hated to leave him again, but my visit was over. I bent down, placed a picture of us on the headstone, weighted down with a small rock, and leaned my card up against his marker. Its contents had escaped my memory, but now belonged to its recipient. The writing on the envelope was distinct as I traced my steps back away from the dogwood grove: “To Ethan, Forever Yours –Laura”.

A Breath Away - Laura Fu

       The letter was less than a page long, but I had managed to fit in everything that I needed to say. I said that I missed him and I loved him and I would always love him. After putting it into the envelope, I placed it in the glove compartment. My radio was fading out because of the overwhelming amount of static filling the barren airwaves, so I calmly turned it off.
       The sun was setting beyond the whitecaps of Lake Michigan, creating a semi-circle of reds and yellows on the horizon. The bright shine was a false image; it provided absolutely no heat to my bundled body, curled up in the front seat of my car. Still, I sat motionless and content and watched the stars come out.
       As I inhaled my peaceful surroundings once more, Alex’s face appeared. The same static image always came to mind when I thought about the trip that I was about to take. He was wearing khaki pants and a blue button-down, his glasses folded neatly in the front pocket. I didn’t realize at the time that this was it. He would be gone, out of my life, the next day. If I had known that, my parting words would have been more sincere.
       Now I look back and dream of being with him again. I wonder how much he’s changed and whether or not he’ll remember me. The first thing I’ll do is ask him why he left without telling me. I want to punch him and slap him and then hug him and never let him go. ***         It was a Tuesday night. We had just seen a movie, a terrible one in fact, and we sat in the empty parking lot discussing it for thirty minutes. Alex was his usual self, apologizing for things he couldn’t control.
       “I’m so sorry, Mia. If I had known how bad it was, I wouldn’t have brought you to it,” he said. “I’m sorry I wasted your time.” He seemed embarrassed because he hadn’t looked up at me once during our conversation.
       “It wasn’t the greatest, but it was okay,” I lied. “You didn’t waste my time at all.”
       “Yeah, well, I thought it was going to be a nice drama. I’m really sorry. I didn’t know.”
       “Thanks for taking me anyways, Alex.”
       “I mean, the trailer didn’t even say anything about...”
       “It’s okay, Alex, alright?” I interrupted. “It was only six dollars. I’m not upset, so don’t you be either.
       He was staring straight ahead, eyes raised in a conscious gaze. His curious countenance studied the instruments on the dashboard, his hands lightly trembling. Without hesitation, the question shot out of my mouth.
       “Why do you always feel so sorry?” Suddenly I felt I had crossed over the line of comfort. I wanted to apologize myself and crawl back into my cave.
       Alex turned on the engine and put the car in drive without saying a word. I wished I hadn’t been so prying and pushy. He finally answered my question with a typical, simple answer: “I don’t know.” ***         It was completely dark now. The stars had scattered their arrangements across the silent heavens while I was dreaming. No one was on the streets at this hour, not even another car, so I stepped into the crisp evening and stood in the middle of the road.
       The streetlight above my parked car was burned out, but I didn’t care. I could hear the swelling waters in the surrounding darkness, and the town lights glowed behind the shadows of the pinewood forest.
       This very road would take me to Alex. I had been planning my trip for several weeks, and it was time to go, time to leave the comfort of my hometown and the life I once thought was perfect. I convinced myself that I had pushed Alex away, and now I was determined to get him back.
       I came to the edge of the road. Five feet of sand and gravel separated me from the dune’s gradual slope, slipping beneath the harsh waves of the lake. Silvery strips of light from the full moon danced across the water, and I was momentarily hypnotized.
       Suddenly I found myself sitting next to him again. I was in his car, and he was driving, but he didn’t seem to notice me. The radio was on low, but I could just barely hear the music. It was our song: “Yesterday”. Alex tapped his finger on the steering wheel as he sang along. “All my troubles seemed so far away. Now it looks as if they’re here to stay. Oh, yesterday came suddenly.” He was a great singer, although he was too shy to admit it.
       “Oh, Alex. Why did you leave?” I whispered, not expecting a reply.
       He stopped singing and turned his head. “You left me, Mia.”
       I shrieked just in time to catch myself from tripping down the side of the dune. Alex and his car were gone, and I was alone by the lake again. ***         I tried to apologize indirectly. “I didn’t mean it like that, Alex,” I said. “It just seems like you’re too hard on yourself sometimes.”
       We were passing around a bend on Lake Shore Drive, a few short turns from my house, and the heavy ambience had not yet lifted from our conversation. I knew Alex was thinking really hard because all of his answers had been generic since we left the theater, which was ten minutes ago.
       “Sometimes I say things without thinking. I would never, ever say something to hurt you. I like you too much to do that.” I caught myself speaking without hesitation again, but that finally got a reaction from Alex.
       “Really?” he said.
       “Yeah, really,” I answered. The words floated from my heart to my brain and out of my mouth without a hint of uncertainty.
       Before I knew it, we were pulling into my driveway. My housemates had forgotten to leave the porch light on again, so we sat in the dark. The moon had risen to its highest point, and the light struggled through the tangled mass of naked trees. Alex’s headlights bounced off the cold Michigan mist collecting in front of the car.
       “I’m sorry I apologize so much, Mia,” Alex said, laughing timidly afterwards. “But really, I don’t mean to upset you. It’s just that I want everything to be perfect for you. I’ve dreamed about being part of an “us” some day, and I always wanted it to be just right. You and me; “us”.” He paused. “I love you.”
       It all seemed too abrupt and pure to be true, and I wasn’t prepared with a response. Our last two years flashed before me: senior prom, high school graduation, college registration, spring break in San Francisco, three long semesters at MSU.
       “I, well, gee...” The words stumbled out. “I mean, I love you, too, Alex.” I threw myself towards him and we kissed long and hard. Our hands felt each other’s happiness, along his chin, across my cheek, through the strands of my flowing hair, and down his soft neck. ***         I got back into my car and stared at the moon. It was in that familiar spot in the sky again, directly above me, and I squinted until the fuzzy haze dissolved from around it. It looked the same as it had when I said goodbye to Alex that night, miniscule against the dense blackness that engulfed it.
       My radio was still off and the letter for my friends and family was safe inside the glove compartment. I didn’t know how to tell my parents or my housemates why I was leaving, so I wrote it all down. It took several drafts, but I managed to condense it into a few paragraphs.
       I thought about Alex and recalled our last words. “Good night, Mia,” he said. “I love you.” And all I said back was, “I know. Good night.” He pulled out of my driveway and down the road, never to return.
       Reminiscing made the guilt come back. I slammed down on the horn and screamed, “God damn it!” but it didn’t change anything. I was still alone. “I’m on my way, Alex. I’m not gonna let you go!”
       Then, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw Alex’s car in my rear view mirror. I couldn’t hear the characteristic gurgle of his engine, but I recognized his blue vehicle immediately. He slowly passed by me without even waving or honking “hello”.
       “Alex?” I thought out loud “Where are you going?”
       There was a sound of surging waves from the lake at the bottom of the dune, right ahead of us, warning drivers of the curve and the bridge. Alex kept driving.
       Then I saw it. It was a deer or maybe a dog. I cried out for him to stop, but he didn’t see it coming. It ran out from the woods on the left, and everything slowed down. I saw Alex’s break lights flash bright red, but his tires didn’t make a sound. Everything was silent.
       And then I saw his car turn, but it didn’t turn with the curve in the road. The curve went to the left, and Alex went to the right. Sand and gravel rushed into the air, and he disappeared over the edge of the dune.
       I started my car.
       “Don’t worry, Alex, I’m here. I didn’t leave!”
       I flicked on my lights, stepped on the gas, and followed in the skid marks his tires had left behind. And then I was flying, soaring down the dune but floating up into the night sky. I closed my eyes right before my car hit the water, and I was thrown forward. The coldness quickly filled the back seat and then the front, until I was gasping for air.
       In an instant I found myself in his arms, and I was warm again. He held me and caressed my body as he had that night so long ago. We held each other and looked into each other’s eyes.

        “I’m sorry,” we said in unison.

Memorial Speech - Laura Fu

I have been dreading this day since last spring. Just the name of this month makes me cringe, but that's how it will always be. Everything changed for us after Max died, and I can't even remember what it used to be like. We've all come together today for the same reason: to remember the life that was taken away from us a year ago today. I fear the passage of time because it is the one enemy I haven't managed to conquer. No matter what I do, time continues and life goes on...without Max. And with every single second I feel like I am being torn further away from him. Some time ago someone asked me why I was still in so much pain if I only knew him for two months. The answer is simple: because it was the greatest two months of my life. Max taught me so much about life and love, maybe without even knowing it, and I owe so much to him.

So thank you all for being here today. And a special thanks to all of my classmates, professors and the administrators in the School of Communication for all their help with the upcoming telthon, which will benefit the Max Kolb Scholarship.