Evie was the first friend I lost to death.
Her death at age 16 comes to mind in November — the month in which we remember those who have gone before us.
I think about Evie often — not just in November.
We were in the middle of our junior year in high school when she died of a brain tumor.
We met three years earlier, when I was a new student at Jordan Junior High in Palo Alto, and Evie took me under her wing.
Since it took a while to be absorbed into the larger culture of students who’d gone through grade school together — Evie’s friendship was a gift.
Evie was one of five children in her family. Besides her parents, there was her twin brother, two twin younger sisters, and an adopted son, Kal, who was about a year older than Evie and me.
One evening my friend Charlotte — another newbie — and I were invited to spend the night at Evie’s house.
That’s when I found out about her brain tumor.
Evie had fallen asleep early, but Charlotte and I were still awake.
Evie’s mom — Mrs. T. — told us that Evie began to complain of double vision and headaches in sixth grade.
Doctors found a tumor in Evie’s brain and removed it surgically. Mrs. T. told us of all the long hospitalizations, X-rays, treatments and convalescence.
Charlotte and I had known Evie wasn’t allowed to play most sports because of a head surgery, but we were puzzled about her illness.
From classmates, we’d learned that Evie was always the fastest runner in the class, always made good grades, and if there was a prank in the class, Evie was in the middle of it.
And Evie was usually the one to get caught.
Until her head surgery.
Mrs. T. ‘s conversation about Evie’s brain tumor helped fill out the picture.
I wasn’t sure what to do with this information, so I never said a word to Evie about the conversation with Mrs. T.
I don’t think Charlotte did either.
I’m at the mercy of a memory as the scenes of the next few years fade in and out.
I spent several weeks in the summer after eighth-grade with Evie and her family at a summer house in Carmel.
In 1949, Carmel was not yet a major, expensive destination. Evie and I had the run of the town.
Mr. T. drove us to Monterey Bay, where we collected abalone shells in the pools of water along the shore.
One morning the house in Carmel was filled with the sweeping sounds of “South Pacific.”
Evie’s brother Kal had bought the record “South Pacific.”
I remember being so impressed — Kal was the first young person I knew who had his own record player and his own records.
The world was unfolding in music, beauty and new adventures.
But Evie would not live to experience these gifts.
After the vacationing weeks in Carmel, school started up again.
I got involved in activities and began trying to find my place in the social strata of ninth grade.
As I became busier, I saw less and less of Evie.
My memory leaps forward a few years. Evie surprised me by coming by my house.
She’d often been absent from school and seemed thinner than usual.
“I wanted to let you know I have to go to the hospital again, next week,” she said.
“How long are you going to be there?” I asked awkwardly.
“About a week.”
“Are you scared?”
“No. Not too much. Everyone is always so nice to me.”
Evie died Feb. 23, 1952.
Too young. On the very cusp of life.
Our community has lost so many this year.
Let us remember them all.
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Val McCullough: Sweet 16 is too young to die - Loveland Reporter-Herald
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