R.I.P., Sarah

She was from another dimension of time; a dark-haired, husky-voiced blur from my formative years. Indeed, I was 17 – and she 14 – when I ‘went out with’ Sarah Houlihan. Eighteen years ago. Eighteen adult years ago. A long time in anyone’s life.
So why has her recent death unsettled me so? Why wasn’t my initial shock erased by a brief period of scattered recollection before diving back into the now, and my daily routine of work and parenthood? After all, I’d barely thought of her in almost two decades, during which time I’ve been engaged to one woman, and spawned two beautiful children with another. I’d travelled. Studied. Had numerous shitty – and some not so shitty – jobs. I’d lived. And she’d simply filled the law of averages: I wasn’t the worst-looking kid in the world, and, as shy and unpopular as I was up until my last year of high school, it wouldn’t have been right to leave those years behind without the trace of at least one girlfriend.

It was, of course, just puppy love with Sarah – a starry, hormonal rumble that lasted no more than two months. And after I ended our brief union (after discovering she’d kissed another boy) a succession of other 'puppies' and nameless flings followed before the first serious one came along. Girls were no longer aliens – and, I guess, Sarah was the catalyst for this. She loosened my tongue around the female form – and not least because she was my first kiss. Perhaps it was better this milestone came later than for most, because I remember it vividly. We’d chatted a few times at school; the mutual interest was clear. We'd organised to meet up on a winter’s day at the primary school behind my parents' house in Cobram. She’d rocked up with one of her friends. They both had the grunge look going: dyed black hair; band tee over full-sleeve top; Doc Marten boots. My rebellion, meanwhile, stopped short at longish hair and an undercut. We smoked cigarettes and talked about music. Nirvana. Pearl Jam. Metallica. The Doors. Despite the three-year age gap, we were a level peg: I was naïve and late-developing; she seeming much older than she was. Then her friend made herself scarce. We sat there on the bench, partially hidden by some over-arching trees, our small talk frittering away to thin slices of mumble. I shivered a little: a mix of the elements and nerves. Then she motioned, ever so slightly to move in. I responded, a little uncertain, a little excited, hoping like hell I could find a rhythm and not embarrass myself… my confidence growing as time slowed. It was… well, everyone remembers their first kiss, don’t they?

In death her scent returns to me: the mint chewing gum that barely masked the taste of cigarettes; the musky perfume that lingered long after our 'meetings'. For the myriad changes I’ve undergone in 18 years, all it’s taken is a moment of bewildering madness to throw me back, back, back to before all that – back to being an uncertain boy who was, for the first time, enjoying the touch of a female who cared. Death awakens you in the present and hurls you back into the past. While she was a wild one, and her issues – including battles with anorexia – weren’t restricted to simple teenage angst; the ‘loving and caring’ person, as described in the obituaries of her family and friends, was evident back then.

By only knowing her as a fragile teenager – and not the mother of two and self-employed naturopath she became – I’m not overly surprised she left the big dance earlier than should be permitted. But a lot can happen in 18 years – people grow up, adjust expectations, learn to smile at the world – just as a lot can happen in a split second. I’m not even going to try to predict why and how Sarah came to be driving at high speed along the wrong way of a busy freeway. My thoughts are also with the families of the four people killed as a result of her actions. The whole situation is deeply sad.

And a tiny part of me is gone. Sadly, it’s taken Sarah's death for me to realise this. A hollow consolation, yes, but everything about a young death is hollow.

R.I.P., Sarah.