I had just returned from a long weekend in my hometown. My buddy Frush had picked me up on his way from Detroit. Our friend Annabelle came with.
We didn’t go for any other reason than to be young and dumb.
The trip was a success.
We crashed with our friend Rob. Annabelle was supposed to return home earlier than us but I convinced her to stay. I called and left a message with her boss. I lied and said her car and cellphone had been stolen in Grand Rapids and she would be back Monday.
That Sunday, Detroit seemed too far away so, when they dropped me off, they came inside and watched Tiger Woods play golf. He’d win the next day in a playoff round, but I didn’t watch.
That July, Frush and I returned to Holland. Our friend Sang and I really wanted Annabelle to be there. We called and called and called and left voicemails telling her we loved her and missed her and needed her to be there.
I don’t think she ever got those voicemails. She went to a pier with some friends and drowned that day. It was the 4th of July.
Yesterday, Tiger Woods won the Masters at Augusta, after what seemed to be a lifetime ago.