Mike

 

Sun 11/13

I read in my college alumni magazine that one of my junior year housemates, Mike, died. There are more and more names listed these days in the in memoriam column. From my graduating year - seven this quarter.  As Dylan sings … for us lucky ones -  “it’s not dark yet but it’s getting there.” I think what I recall most about my peers who’ve died - I think it’s their “miles per hour.”  How they moved in a room, or walked down a street or on a beach, through space.  Mike had an easy way and held his preppy own in a houseful of burgeoning hippies. He was blond, wore black framed Buddy Holly glasses and had a deep, measured voice.  I liked him even though we didn’t spend much meaningful time together.