Dirge Without Music

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.
Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains – but the best is lost.
The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love –
They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.
Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

His name was Eddie. We recognized one another with the first roll call in our algebra class, for our older brothers were best friends. A couple of cut-ups, their running jokes and made-up words were almost like another language, and Eddie and I were like countrymen in a foreign land, able to speak that language with one another as we could with no one else around us.

He had braces when he first met, which caused him to lisp slightly. I teased him mercilessly about it, even to the point of sending him a get-well card that said:
"You're Thick!"
("And I'm thorry.")

He was tall, over six feet, and awkward in that way of boys whose arms and legs grow faster than their ability to control them. Over the span of years that I knew him, he outgrew the awkwardness, and became, among other things, an excellent dancer. He was bright. He was funny. He had a wonderful falsetto, and to this day he is the first thing that comes to mind when I hear Frankie Valli singing "Sherry" or "Walk Like a Man".

We had a few dates, but we were never "dating". We were just good friends, completely comfortable with each other, but there was never a romantic spark. We graduated from high school; I went off to college, got married, had kids, and lost track of him.

The next time I saw him was at his funeral. He died in Viet Nam.

Eddie never had children, or even married. When those of us who knew him are no longer alive, it will be as though he never existed. That haunts me.

Several years ago I took some grandchildren to the Viet Nam Wall in Washington D.C. on Memorial Day, and we made a rubbing of Eddie's name from the wall. I can only hope that on future Memorial Days, when I am long dead and gone, they will think about a young man, so full of promise, who never had the chance to fulfill his potential.

I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.