“Hey kid, it’s been just over a month since you’ve passed, and I still think about you. I hope you’re having fun listening to me babble…”
It’s August 9, 2009. I’m sitting in my car, about to go to Casey’s, and I’m talking to Knefler. Yeah, I know, he’s dead. And I’m not much of a believer in anything regarding heaven or hell, but I have a feeling he’s listening and probably making fun of me right now. Sometimes I just think about things, sometimes I say them. Right now, I’m saying the words out loud.
The first day was incredibly hard. I drove to Sibert’s house and on the way, I saw a sign that said, “Report Impaired Drivers: Call 911″ and promptly lost it. “God, you idiot,” I sobbed, hunched over the steering wheel. “You thought you were invincible. Why didn’t you wear your fucking seatbelt?” In all of the months I drove him home after school, I was constantly being the mother: “Knefler, wear your seatbelt.” His response? “Fuck you, bitch, I do what I want.” And then he’d open my sunroof and stand up, take off his shirt, and rub his chest at passing school buses.
I was in constant fear of being arrested or ticketed when he was in my car. The last time I saw him, my friend Hannah and I picked him up after ditching out on our senior dinner, a night of total social failure. He found a small teddy bear from a McDonald’s Happy Meal from back in the day when we’d go there after school everyday. He also found a plastic Starbucks cup and my de-icer spray bottle. Always armed with a lighter, he thought it’d be a fantastic idea to see if soaking the bear in de-icer chemicals, placing it in the cup and lighting it on fire would cause it to explode. He tossed it out of the car in a Wal-Mart parking lot, and we looked at the purple and orange flames for about five seconds before speeding off. Knefler laughed maniacally while I drove. “Look at that motherfucker burn!”
He was easily one of my best friends during his time at Brebeuf. Gavin, Jake, and Knefler were my favorite people in the class under me. We spent every lunch together. I drove Knefler home everyday and didn’t make him pay for the gas because he never had any money. It was totally worth it, though. He provided endless entertainment.
Knefler wasn’t just a funny kid, though. Gavin and Jake could tell you countless stories of how he’d stand up for them or be there for them when they needed someone. I remember when I told him of my history of abuse at the hands of my former babysitter. He was more than willing to go to this guy’s place of employment and mess with him, and apparently he went looking for him a couple of times. Whenever I was sad, Knefler was always there to say something so h0rrible that it would make me laugh. When my grandfather died, he made some terrible joke about old people to cheer me up. And it worked.
Once he left Brebeuf, though, it changed. I still saw him and talked to him, but not nearly as much. I started noticing how dangerous his lifestyle was becoming. I’d seen friends go down similar paths, and it scared me. I’d try to have him over and hang out, but he’d do something totally crazy, like run into rush hour traffic swinging at people’s cars with my guitar. His recklessness made me sad. We grew distant.
Then I got a voicemail from my friend Kassy. “I don’t know if you heard, but Knefler died last night..” I lost it.
I became the messenger. I told Gavin, Jake, Kelly, Hannah, Gina, Caroline. I helped spread the word about funeral arrangements. It was a burden. The funeral was hard. I didn’t cry. I felt like it, but I fought it. I kept thinking about how stupid Knefler would find this stuff. How he wouldn’t want us sad, he’d want us listening to techno music, smoking and hanging out.
And now here I am, over a month later. I think about him every day. I found part of his mini deck of cards in my car on Thursday. Thinking about him too much makes me cry. I hope he knows how much his friends miss him, how much we love him. Burying a friend is never easy. I love you, kid.
