This has nothing to do with bikes. This has everything to do with experiences.

Taking Stacy Duckett to see Bruce Springsteen in Memphis remains one of the most memorable of my college-age experiences. I believe it was my sophomore year, and Bruce was touring in support of his Born in the USA album.

Were I to think of a single term to describe Stacy Duckett, it would be poised. To me, she was terribly together. Very pretty. Cool hair. Clothes matched. Really great voice. A year older than me. Honestly, I thought she was completely out of my league, but I had tickets to see Springsteen and I wasn’t going to waste that kind of capital on anyone that wasn’t a stretch.

I can’t remember how we got to Memphis. I’m sure we drove, but my crappy VW Scirocco was an absolute pile. If we drove that, Stacy was brave on top of everything else. We stayed with the parents of my friend Dave Ford, which was pretty cool; we didn’t have to drive back to Little Rock in the middle of the night.

It was a fantastic concert, and just a perfect evening. I remember being very, very happy.

Stacy and I went out a few more times, but it just didn’t take. As poised as Stacy was, I was not, and there just wasn’t enough between us to make it work. I don’t recall a lot of heartbreak and anguish; it just didn’t happen.

I saw Stacy once after college, at the Oyster Bar on Markham in Little Rock. I think she was in law school at the time, and I was working for the man (the man named Systematics). I remember having such incredible self-confidence that I introduced myself all over again when I said hello. She was great, and obviously on her way to something.

Monday I found out that Stacy died, and I became totally, completely sad. I teared up telling my mom and brother about her passing. They were nice in their support, but I didn’t think that they totally got where I was coming from, so I called my friend Bob, who’s always been good at rooting out the cause of my problems. In the course of our conversation, I told Bob that one of my parents’ friends died few years ago, a friend who meant a great deal to me and who taught me a lot and a guy with whom I’d meant to share his importance. But I didn’t. Since then, I’ve been much more determined to tell people who matter to me that they do. Bob said, “If you start that shit with me, I’ll hang up. But we’ve always talked to each other like that.”

I am sad that Stacy is gone. I’m sad that I didn’t take the time to contact her. I’m sad that my generation is dying. I’m as sad as I’ve been since my dad died. But I am very, very happy that I have a great memory of a perfect evening in 1984.

Monkeys on Typewriters

Each month we go to the zoo and hand out typewriters to monkeys. After a few days, we collect their thoughts and format them into an email newsletter suitable for framing or birdcage lining. Sound good? Enter your email below and check it out.

Note: we will never ever ever ever share your email. Ever. No monkey will contact you directly.