I promised her years ago that I'd write 'our' story because she wanted me to write something that was happy and not just the cynical tales from my teenage years. Over the years I've tried many times to write about Ryan and could never find the right 'angle'. But, I guess some stories can't be written until the chapter comes to a close.
And as sad as it is, my heart and gratitude are with her husband Ben who helped wrap up our girl's story with all the love and support she deserved.
Enjoy!
‽
A Girl in a Meadow
Ryan and I first met by design.
It was sophomore year and we were both in Berkeley college.
All I knew of her was that she was the ‘over eager’ girl who lived upstairs and
was also in the Glee Club. She had her friends, the happy perky people who
enjoyed things like 'Pride and Prejudice' and were prone to theatrical displays
like spinning and giggling for no reason. I hung out with a slightly more
cynical crowd that looked upon the Glee Club’s glee as something to be
tolerated because it facilitated crazy fun parties and free booze.
It wasn’t until December of that year that I got the
destined ‘tap’ by Josh McNeil that I should think about running for social
chair. ‘Really? Okay. If you think so,’ was all I could say because Josh was a
senior and the coolest person on the planet.
‘Well, who’s going to be my co-social chair?’ I asked.
‘Her,’ Josh pointed across Hendrie Hall at the ‘girl with
the loud annoying laugh standing next to the other girl with REALLY loud
annoying laugh’.
‘Oh, ok.’ I said.
Unbeknownst to me Alegia Mercer-Falkoff, the matron of
‘Ryan’s crowd’ had already had the same discussion with her.
On winter tour I finally plopped down next to her on the bus
and like a nervous teenager I stammered, ‘So, I was thinking of running for social
chair. Do you want to run with me?’
‘That'd be great! I was thinking the same thing,’ smile,
bounce, smile, shrewd narrowing of the eyes.
In that moment I saw something beneath the veneer of
enthusiasm. She was wary of me. She’d agreed to team up but was not at all
convinced it would work. I had assumed that she’d love the idea and would steam
roll ahead with a list of things that she would be ‘super excited’ to do. But,
surprisingly, she sat back and waited. She measured me up and watched to see
what I would do, what my standards were.
Below the bubbly happy Ryan, there was a private Ryan. A
Ryan that, if you took the time to look, was much deeper and discerning than
just a silly happy girl that many people took her for.
She enjoyed being behind the scenes making sure everyone was
having a good time. And our friendship grew in the quiet moments in between
when we would take a breather. ‘First rule of throwing a good party: A good
host always has at least one glass of wine before the first guest arrives.’
We formed our own little emo-twosome, playing competitions
of who’d had it worst. But, unlike me, she wore her exhaustion for only a
moment because she wanted to spread joy and taught me how to share mine. She
wouldn’t let me wallow. Happiness for her came from seeing her friends happy
and laughing. It sustained her. So, we breathed, took stock, refilled the chip
bowl and hustled back out to the party to witness the joy we were helping
create. 
Ryan was smart. She was free with her love and joy, but the
people she let in beyond the atrium of her happiness were privileged. And when
you got the backstage pass it was a whole other level of amazing. And I had to
work for it. Over the years, I learned to read her looks and shrugs, her happy
tones from her disapproving but happy tones. She had high standards of loyalty
and love and made them known through deeds, not words or empty gestures.
There were times I let her down and I knew it without her
saying. Ryan never complained, but I knew instinctively what she would have
done had she been in my shoes. And through her example of friendship I became
better.
I remember, mid-way through our junior year after we’d had a
few months of social-chairing under our belts I said to Ryan, ‘So, I’ve decided
that I want to be a better friend. I know I haven’t been as reliable as I could
be. I figure, I’m smart enough already. And there’s not enough time at school
to be a straight-A student AND a really good friend. So, I’m trying harder.’
She just smiled and said, ‘Yeah, I noticed. *cue Ryan laugh*
And I’m really proud of you, Doodles.’
She was honest with her praise. So honest, that you didn’t
need to ask when you weren’t measuring up. Ryan was not perfect though.
We both had a passion for books; the physicality of them,
the joy of breaking the spine on a paper back, feeling it in your hand,
dog-eared pages and the smell of paper. But, she was a terrible literature
major. ‘I just like to read. I don’t know why people feel the need to pick
books apart so much. You either like a story or you don’t,’ she recounted to me
once.
‘But Ryan, you’re a literature major. That’s what you’re
supposed to do.’
‘I know, but I just love books. So that’s why I’m taking a
botany class so I can sit in a flowery meadow and read.’
She was serious. She was at Yale University, THE best school
in the US (because Harvard sucks), taking courses with world renowned authors
and professors and all she wanted to do was read books in a meadow.
That was what she did. She wanted the best, simple things in
life and that was it. That’s why it seems so unfair that she didn’t have as
much of it as the rest of us. But, I think, in many ways, she did. I’m still
learning from her about the things that I should and shouldn’t strive for. Really,
I’ve learned that I shouldn’t strive at all because the things I want are
already right here. I just have to sit back and notice them. And Ryan sat back.
Don’t get me wrong she was a hard worker, tirelessly so. But she walked, and
she ate, and she ran, and she read, and she swam, and she laughed, and she
laughed and she laughed. And good things came to her. She took what she had and
turned it into what she wanted.
She wasn’t always happy. She felt down and she cried. She
sometimes tried too hard to be a shield from sadness for those around her. And
it weighed on her. But my greatest happiness was seeing her get together with
Ben… again. She finally found someone that she learned to share with. Someone
who she felt close enough to rely on. And, I think Ben will agree, it wasn’t
easy. She was stubborn and she grabbed at any opportunity to try and take back
the burden. She didn’t like people to fuss over her. And she felt it was her
job to carry everything alone. But he never let her.
Ryan never let other people take the reigns. Like me, Ben
went through a rigorous process of ‘proving’ himself. But, I’m so so happy he
did, that he was the one who calmed that girl down. Ryan always smiled, but she
didn’t always relax. And Ben gave her that, she was at ease with him, and I
can’t thank him enough. She loved Ben so much, and most importantly she trusted
him, the best decision she ever made.
Losing Ryan is sad and hard. But, all of us who love her must know that she is finally relaxing. She had so much love. She had her mom and dad. She had her brother and sister who she was so proud of. She had Ben and their lovely dog Molly and Ben's family. She had a hard fight at the end but also an outpouring of love. And now, Ryan is in eternity, sitting somewhere in a meadow full of flowers reading a book, a book about our lives on earth carrying on, narrowing her eyes at us when we’re missing the mark - waiting for us to figure it out on our own, and laughing at the stupid things that we will all inevitably do. And I supposed I’ll have to laugh along too.
PS. I've written a bit more about Ryan here as well as a little something about grief for all of us.
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