“Did you hear?” Hear what? “That kid. Skateboarding accident. Nice kid. Not doing too good.” Before I knew it, a dear friend had not just moved away but moved on to a better place. Word spreads quickly in my town, it’s a small town, but everyone also has their nose in other people’s business. When I first heard of the accident I didn’t pay it much attention. The story had changed hands so many times that all the details I heard in school was that some kid got into a skateboarding accident, first name “V” something. It couldn’t be him. He moved a while ago.
It’s funny how when you realize you’re losing someone, your best memories with them literally flash before your eyes. The time we were sledding down a huge hill and he crashed into a shed and broke his femur but made a joke out of it. That time on the Fourth of July when we repeatedly told him to point the mortar up more but he fired it straight at the crazy neighbor’s house. Vince first moved to Kings Park about four years ago, and lived one block over from me and my best friends. He was the kind of nice, jolly guy that went out of his way to make you feel at home. My friends and I embraced him, and so did the rest of Kings Park. Unfortunately Vince and his family had a habit of moving, and moved to the neighboring town of Northport when it felt like we were just becoming good friends. We still ran into each other, but lost touch when his family planned to move to Louisiana. It was months before that fateful day in June when I last saw Vince fully conscious. I was sitting in my car outside the Main Street Pizzeria, when I noticed Vince’s unmistakable tuned up Honda creeping up in my rear view mirror. I forgot Vince delivered pizza there, but he took the time to catch up. He told me he’d be leaving for Louisiana soon and I vowed to see him off. Not only did I not get to see him before he left, but I’m never going to get to see him again.
Losing a friend the same age as you hits you like a truck. There’s an enormous sinking feeling when you realize that death can come to anyone, even yourself. It seemed like the whole world was at the hospital that day waiting. Waiting for a miracle. Hours went by and then days. He was on life support and I only got to see him once to give him my prayers and then his room was reserved for his family. Going on two days, they were going to do a risky surgery to reconnect his brain stem. I had hope up until I saw the look on Vince’s girlfriend’s face. They had been dating two years and the reason he was back from Louisiana was that he wanted to see her one last time. When I saw that look on her face, I knew Vince was gone. Vince had been long boarding down the old bike path through the Psych Center with my other two friends Shane and Kyle. Vince couldn’t have been going that fast because it was flat, but somehow caught an edge and slammed his head so hard on the pavement that his brain stem got disconnected. A helmet would have saved his life. In honor of his memory, we are trying to get Sector 9 to sponsor a long boarding helmet with only the word “In.Vince.Ible.”
RIP VIncent Castrillon
