digitalphiltrum

In a 1963 paper for the New York Academy of Sciences, Edward Lorenze explored the idea that one flap of a seagull’s wings could change the course of weather forever. This would later become known as the “butterfly effect”, an idea associated with Chaos Theory, that states that even the smallest action, such as the single flap of a butterfly’s wings, can ultimately affect the entire world.

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July 24, 1994. Today is your twelfth birthday. We are celebrating, you and I and a bunch of your friends, at the local community pool. We splash and dunk and belly-flop and cannonball – all those things that only kids can do for an infinite number of hours. And when these grow tiresome or our bellies grow too pink we have contests to see who can hold their breath longer under water or race one another the length of the pool over and over again until we are so tired we can barely move.

At sunset we gather all our stuff together, a large assortment of colorful kickboards, foam noodles and rubber rafts, and trudge slowly back to your house, a whole 2 blocks, leaving a trail of little wet footprints behind us.

After ice cream and cake and an impromptu sing-along to Des’ree’s “Gotta Be”, still wrapped in our brightly colored beach towels, we pack into the two large, yellow rubber rafts (the ones we have brought inside, still wet, and left in the middle of the living room floor, much to your mother’s dismay) to watch a movie and snack on popcorn. I don’t remember what movie we watch because after 20 minutes we are all sound asleep, a giant mess of tangled limbs and popcorn kernels, contorted and uncomfortable but so comatose that it doesn’t matter.

In the morning, stiff and still sleepy, I hug you goodbye when my father comes to pick me up and, as the car drives off, lean out the window and say “thank you for the party!” adding quickly, “…cant wait for next year’s!”

Neither of us know at this moment that this will be the last birthday I will ever celebrate with you. We have been best friends for what seems like forever but, having just finished up our first year of middle school, childhood has already begun its surreptitious retreat. In the summers that will follow we will hear from each other less and less, as is the tendency with childhood friends. By the time we graduate high school we will not have spoken in 5 years. All that will remain of the once strong friendship are some notes and pictures, a few trinkets that mean nothing to anyone but the two of us, and a handful of good times spent together – like a twelfth birthday party.

July 9, 2004. The roads by the reservoir are often foggy at night, especially during the hot and humid Baltimore summers. The sun has set long ago and, as the heat of the day begins to fade, a low ground cover of fog begins to settle in.With the exception of the constant chorus of crickets and tree frogs and the occasional hum and whiz of a passing car, it is a quiet, still night.

Shortly after 2am, a mustang (for some reason I imagine it might have been green) comes speeding around the bend at the bottom of the hill on Providence Rd. It doesn’t fully make the turn though – instead the silence of the night is broken (but only for a second) by the squeal of rubber on pavement, the awful crunch of metal and fiberglass and the shattering of glass as the car slides off the road, slamming sideways into one tree before crashing headfirst into another.

The police report will say that the driver “failed to negotiate the turn”, but you will never be able to tell them why. You do not survive the crash.

I won’t hear about it for another two weeks when, at a bar, the following conversation plays out between me and an old friend:

    Him: Hey, do you remember Telly? We went to school with her in elementary and middle school…

    Me: Yes! Of course I remember her! We were best friends for years.

I see the change come over his face immediately, the corners of his lips fall, and then, quietly…

    Him: Oh. Im sorry. I didn’t know. I hate to be the one to tell you but…

**

I can only hope that your death was immediate, that you did not have time to feel the pain, or think about the friends who were in the car with you, or contemplate what it means to live or die. I hope that one minute you were laughing and joking and singing along with the radio and the next…

Static. Like when you turn the TV to a non-existent station. A gentle hiss, the flickering of black and white with the occasional flash of a broken image that you can almost make out, but not completely, like a dream, or a fading childhood memory…

**

If the Chaos Theory is correct, then it is impossible for any person, no matter how ordinary, to cross paths with another, even for a breif moment, without ultimately affecting the entire course of their life.