The weekend is so close, and so is an oil change. At least, that’s what Ben Bragg’s Facebook page says. I’d say right about now, Ben can’t take another minute of his boating history class he was telling me about earlier this week. I wonder what things are like for him in Throgg’s Neck, New York:
Ben is counting down the seconds until Lt. Harper dismisses the class. After two hours of taking notes and one hour over due from joining the urination, Ben sees Lt. Harper give his trademark salute to wrap up class. SUNY Maritime Academy rejoices with the end of a week and an opportunity to leave campus. Well, most of Maritime can leave right away. Ben has to stick around for another three hours or so for Rugby practice. This is a fact which befuddles me as to how someone like him could go from gentle giant in high school to a brute Maritime Rugger. Maybe this could be attributive to why Ben is sen as so many different things to so many different people. On that note, he’s an eagle scout, great outdoorsman, one in discernment of the priesthood, and also someone that nobody dislikes and everyone loves. If anyone was deserving of my damn Signum Fidei award, it’s Ben. I sure as hell am not half the man Ben is.
Ben will get out of practice around six. If it was as grueling and hard hitting as he tells me, his six foot one and two hundred pound frame will be covered head to toe in grass stains on his clothes and bruises on his shins. Knowing his one-two-three planning attitude, he has will have his camping gear in the car and is ready for the opening day of duck season. He tells me just about every day about the flocks of perfectly colored teal with coats glistening with burgundy and Carolina blue. Before he gets in the car, he still has to change his oil in the Night Rider; also known as his black 1998 Acura CL he’d always park s close to me back in high school that I would have no room to get out of my car. This was all in good fun and friendship, as I had my fair share of retaliations on his car waiting on him after school. For example, I once gave him a windshield full of pine needles and small patch of them in is line of vision just happened to have dollop of tree sap on them. Whoops. This backfired on me however, because handy Ben carried Windex in his car and wiped the sap off with the biggest smile on his face. . A true renaissance man, and one who refuses to have anyone work on his car beside himself. I really do wish I were him; an inspiration.
The weekend is so close, and so is an oil change. When I got back from dinner with the folks and opened up my computer, Ben’s Facebook page was still up. However, his recent status update was buried amongst other posts I wish to have never seen. From “RIP”, to “we love you”, to “you’re in a better place”, I sat in disbelief. My phone rang, with nothing but tears flowing at each end. I ask Josh the most painful question of my life, “what happened?” He tells me that Ben was found on the side of NY-17, pinned under his car. Between our sobs, Josh asks me why was it Ben that had to go this early. I try, but can’t speak. We try to comfort each other, but nothing can be done. The end could be so close.
You've done a good job describing your friend so that the reader gets some sense of the loss, particularly the way you imagine his day, from school to rugby to duck hunting. It's not clear in the end what kind of accident it was: the piece suggests a car accident but the link says it was while he was changing the oil. Perhaps develop the section describing how he did all the work on his car himself. This deserves a better title. It is an elegy, so you might include that. And proofread for typos. My condolences.
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