COLUMN: Coping with a friend's tragedy

From Karen Pasternack's, "Effective Immediately," Fall '98 From Karen Pasternack's, "Effective Immediately," Fall '98Nicole sits in the library reading her philosophy textbook, hand propped against her face, long blond hair falling across her shoulders. "How are you?" I say casually. "I'm all right. Just doing some fun homework," she says. "How are you?" I pause for a moment. I'm tired. I'm stressed. I'm premenstrual. And I'm convinced that I have more on my mind than anyone else at Penn. But none of these responses seem appropriate. How could anything in my life compare with the trauma of what she is going through? "Fine," I answer. I need to change this subject quickly. I think. "So, are you going to the screamer tomorrow night?" "Actually, I'm supposed to go, but I have a test on Friday and I'm really behind in the reading. I'll have to see. Are you going?" "I might not be able to go either. We could take a study break if you're going to be around." "Sure, sounds good. But, I'm warning you -- I intend to make it to this screamer if it's at all possible. I mean, I think I've only missed one this year." She smiles and I think I hear a giggle. What's wrong with this picture? I suppose she should be happy when she can be. In the spirit of the lighter moment, I admire the gold charm around her neck. "Thanks," she offers a small smile. The glimmer in her large hazel eyes disappears, suddenly replaced with a glassy look. "It belonged to my brother. He got it when he was studying abroad a few years ago." "Oh," I say. "It's really beautiful." But I can't believe I've destroyed a calm moment by making her think about her brother. Couldn't I have just stuck to the weather? "My brother really loved this thing," she says, fingering the delicate charm. I nod my head, or rather I feel my head moving. But now my heart is beating furiously and I don't know what to say. I'm stuck. I feel as though someone is holding a knife to my tongue and it will be cut if I open my mouth. Finally, after a moment of silence, I say, "Hey, remember in high school when you thought you threw out your necklace at lunch and Ben and Alex cut classes and spent the entire day in the dumpster searching for it? That was pretty amusing." Another attempt at diversion. And she does smile, open mouth, bright teeth. But for some reason my mind begins to flash images of her brother when we were in high school. Just a 16-year-old kid riding his bike with his six best friends, playing frisbee on his backyard lawn in a backwards hat and army boots, claiming to hold the undefeated record in Madden football. Nicole stares at me. "Are you sure you're all right?" "Oh, I'm just really tired. I'll be fine once I get some sleep." "Well, I've got to get back to my reading. I have a sorority meeting tonight and I promised to meet Cameron for coffee later." "How about lunch this week? Thursday good?" "Sure, Thursday sounds great." I make a mental note to write it down since it's only Sunday and Nicole is the last person I want to forget about right now. Nicole whips her organizer out of her backpack and scribbles my name under Thursday's heading. "Twelve-thirty okay?" "Fine." I notice she has barely any room left to write on any of the days this week. "Wow. You're really busy," I say almost without thinking. "Yeah," she agrees. "Tell me about it. I think I'm going to have to pencil in some time to breathe." She smiles again. I tell her it's really good to see her back at school. Even though it's been years since we were close, I want her to know she should call if she ever wants to talk. "Let me know if you need anything," I say. She nods. I'm sure everyone has said this to her. I feel as though I should say something more original because my feelings aren't at all clichZ. I want to open my mouth and let every expression of emotion flow out, uncensored. But I cannot put her in that position; she is coping with enough right now. As I say good-bye and turn to leave, I catch myself in a moment of frustration and helplessness. It all feels so close to me, although I like to think that it's not, that the people I love won't have to experience this sort of tragedy. And I know that I have to go back to my own life, even though I'd rather be actively comforting Nicole. It's so mundane, but "life goes on." And there's no way I can protect her from having to deal with her brother's death. Out of the corner of my eye I can see her eyes fixed on her book. She is unaware of my temporary paralysis. And I understand that nothing can ever be the same.