Enya

“ The first thing I noticed about Eric was that he didn't get angry nearly as easily anymore. Things that used to set off his temper would just make him chuckle now. He seemed calm, composed. As strange as this sounds today, he seemed a lot less prone to violence. ”

“ This was especially impressive since, as always, the jocks were still targeting him and Dylan. Soon after we'd made peace, I was smoking cigarettes with them when a bunch of football players drove by, yelled something, and threw a glass bottle that shattered near Dylan's feet. I was pissed, but Eric and Dylan didn't even flinch. “ Don't worry about it, man,” Dylan said. “ It happens all the time.” ”

< skipping an unrelated paragraph >

“ Eric didn't seem to be as quiet in front of people as he'd once been. At one point in Creative Writing, we had to do a “ personification essay,” describing what it would feel like to be a certain inanimate object. For example, you could write about what it feels like to be a desk, or a chair. ”

“ The assignment seemed ludicrous, and no one wanted to do it. So Eric decided to get crazy with it, by writing an essay about a shotgun and a shotgun shell getting married. The story ended with the two of them going off and having a bunch of little “ pellet babies.” It was one of the funniest damned things in the world, and when Eric read it in front of the class, everyone was cracking up. ”

“ I couldn't imagine anything like that happening in sophomore year. I couldn't imagine Eric getting up in front of the entire class and not only reading his work, but putting on such a “ performance” that people would be rolling on the floor. It seemed like Eric had found a new voice with his writing. We were assigned to write poetry, essays, and short stories, some fiction and some nonfiction. I saw a new side of Eric emerge through his writing on more than one occasion. ”

“ Eric wrote an essay about his childhood, in which he described playing “ war” with his brother and a neighborhood girl at his old place in Michigan. He wrote about the joy and innocence of those early days, playing cops and robbers in the fields or hiding in the forest behind his house. The teacher asked Eric to read it out loud in front of the class. He declined, but when I offered to read it for him, he said, “ Sure,” and handed it to me. I was glad to do it. It was a simple, pleasant story, authored by someone who seemed to have worked through many of his issues. ”