“They Wore the Pins”

They wore the pins for awhile. They wore the pins and green. Green shirts, green armbands, green jewelry; some girls even went as far as green eye makeup. They wore the pins, and every item of green clothing they possessed, and said words like ‘kickflips’ and ‘ollie’. They said the words without knowing what they meant. They bought skateboards and tried to learn—most of them half-heartedly. It’s not as if they were doing anything horrible; they just wanted to feel closer to him.

But more and more days went by, and the skateboards were stashed away. The words they didn’t know were spoken less and less, and they ran out of green clothes to fashion. Eventually, they stopped wearing the pins; few people kept them out where they could see them everyday—it was a constant reminder of the tragic loss. They stopped talking about him, stopped listening to his song, and stopped visiting his grave. They were caught up in the emotional tidal wave the event had on our town. They preyed on the real tears, parading around is if they had actually known him, gaining the sympathy of complete strangers with a whimper of their lips. Vultures.

They used to take every opportunity to say his name: “If Nate were here…”, “Remember when Nate…”, “Nate would have loved this weather…”. No one mentions him now. I imagine some have forgotten—but then again they probably wanted to. Somehow living is easier that way. But there will always be the people--people that could truly call the boy their friend--that would pull up next to a van that looked just like his and assume that Nate was there. People that would see Nate in every skater, whether they had red hair or not, and their brain would give them the painful reminder that it couldn’t be Nate…because Nate wasn’t around anymore. There are still a few people that see him in their dreams. Still people that wake up crying his name after having nightmares of they twisted, burning wreck that used to be his van. There are people that think of him everyday. I am one of them.

I’ve stopped wearing the pin. It’s tacked to my bulletin board. I look at it everyday. I wear green every now and then, but not because it was his favorite color. I’ve stopped listening to his song—it’s a great song, but it just hurts too much to hear. I visit his grave every month or so. I lay a single rose and say a quick prayer of peace for his soul and his family, and I go. I don’t like the cemetery, it holds too many memories.

I’ve stopped wearing the pin, but I think of that boy every single day. I’d like to talk about him, but I don’t like bringing him up to my friends. I don’t like the look that creeps into their eyes when they hear his name—brimmed with tears and sorrow. It makes me sad. Sometimes I wish I could stop thinking about him. Sometimes I wish that my friends could find true peace on the subject. Every day I wish that I had known him better, tried harder. Everyday I wish that people—more people at least, still cared. Everyday I wish he were still alive.

R.I.P. N.A.W
Heaven is a Halfpipe

And if you were with me tonight,
I'd sing to you just one more time.
A song for a heart so big,
God couldn't let it live.
May angels lead you in.
Hear you me my friends.
On sleepless roads the sleepless go.
May angels lead you in.

Hear You Me" -Jimmy Eat World