Rest in Peace, Chester.

“The memories I keep are from a time like then
I put ‘em on paper so I could come back to them
Someday I’m hopin’ to close my eyes and pretend
that this crumpled up paper can be perfect again.”

— Frgt/10 — Linkin Park — Reanimation

I saw the news that Chester Bennington had killed himself and was immediately transported to the house I was an early teen in, sitting on AIM, typing to Nick Miller about something—maybe even about Linkin Park. And then I was on a family vacation in Oregon, where I begged to go to a Sam Goody so I could use my 14th birthday money to buy the new Reanimation album, and listen to it on repeat on my Walkman.

That night I opened Spotify and played through Reanimation, and was thrust down memory lane even further. I saw the lyrics in Nick's insult-to-chicken-scratch scrawl, passed in a note in Mrs. Sowers' English class, probably. I remembered him playing the piano hook from My December on endless loop. And then in my mind I was in my old Honda, Herbie, turning from the 101 onto Encinitas Boulevard. And that time I got back to CLU to an apology from Sam for having accidentally cracked the Reanimation CD in half when he was borrowing my car. 

I thought about the collaboration Chester did with Jay-Z, and how it wasn't my introduction to him (that was Big Pimpin' on the radio, lol) but it was my introduction to how clever he was, and my invitation to explore the rest of his discography that wasn't going to be playing on 93.3 any time soon. I can hope that I would've fallen in love with Hov some other way, but I have Chester to thank for that first deep dive.

When I saw that Chester had killed himself, I realized just how much of my days his voice had accompanied. More than half my life ago, in a much angstier time, Linkin Park put words to feelings I was experiencing and to feelings I didn't know could be experienced. Linkin Park helped my friends and me understand each other more deeply.

The last Linkin Park album I bought was Meteora (2003) so I cannot speak to their evolution as artists or anything like that. But for those formative years of my music-listening life, in particular, I owe a debt of gratitude to Chester and to Mike Shinoda and to Mister Hahn.

I cannot imagine the pain his family and friends are feeling at his death, but I will honor his life by listening to the words he wove together more than a decade ago. I will honor the feelings these words bring back to the surface, and I will reach out to the dear ones I first felt them with.

Nick left.

Today, the dearest friend I've had for the longest in my life had his first day of graduate school at Purdue. He's pursuing a PhD in Math, and is absolutely the smartest person I know. That being said, he also makes some of the most ridiculous lifestyle choices of anyone I know. But I suppose geniuses are always a bit wacky.

Nick and I met in 7th grade English. We sat near each other a bit by accident. He talked to me because my cute friend Jillian sat on the other side of me and he obviously wanted to talk to her. I think that fits Nick well. Anyway, in the process of trying to date Jillian (which he never managed to do), Nick somehow became my best friend. He's a good kid.

We had a lot of stupid stuff happen in our lives -- I mean, it was our teenage years, of course it was stupid -- but we stuck together. He introduced me to his old friend Thomas, who you may have heard a bit about from me before. The three of us went on to high school together, and they actually ended up going to college together. When I talk about my dear boys, these two are central to that.

Anyway, because Nick and Thomas went to college near home, they were here every time any of us came back to visit. Well, except winter quarter when they were always away at Ultimate Frisbee tournaments. Not a joke.

This is the first time Nick has left home. He has the experience of our high school life being long over, but he does not have the experience of Encinitas being out of reach. Two years ago (I think? Holy cow.) Nick's parents moved to New York. When I come home for Thanksgiving, he won't be here. When I come home for Christmas, he'll be here for a bit, but he'll be with his parents for a lot of that time. This is new for us. This is new for me.

I had a rough time saying goodbye to him on Friday night. We had a huge party and had a lot of drinks and laughs and our usual dumb stuff. It was a perfect send-off, in my opinion. But I was really floored by how heartbroken I was as I drove home. My Nick. My Nickysweetie-honey-sugar-baby-darling. (I started calling him "Nickysweetie" in high school, which he hated, so I, of course, just kept adding on.)

I think I was in such denial that this was really happening, or that this was really that big of a change, that I wasn't letting myself slowly get used to it. It hit me like a ton of bricks as I hugged him goodbye for the first real goodbye in five years. When I said goodbye to him before I went to college, I was so weirdly emotional about Fletcher and Thomas, mostly, and our whole group never being the same [blah blah blah] that I didn't really give Nick the credit for being the great kid he is. He was always going to be in Encinitas, I probably told myself. Now, that's not a consolation I can offer myself.

Is this going to feel like going away to college all over again? He posted a facebook status this afternoon about surviving his first day, and that "grad school is kind of dope." Spoken like a true doctoral candidate. But I admit, when I saw that, I was gleeful. Like he's playing nice with the other kids? He's 23 years old. I've concocted this image of him there, knockin' 'em dead with his California vocabulary and extreme math brain and athletic shorts for all occasions and three frisbees in his backpack. I'm a basket case.

I guess I just get upset every time I get settled in a new way of life and then someone else makes a change. I just got used to this Berkeley back-and-forth, and now Nick had to up and move across the country? How dare he follow his dreams!

Today, in traffic, a car cut me off and I was shaking my head in disgust, when I noticed they had a Purdue license plate. I smiled and said, "Hey, Nick." out loud like a big freak. I guess that was my cue to breathe and just keep on.

See you at Christmas, Nickysweetie!