Les Bonnes Choses

On the morning of February 15th, 1983, one of my classmates died in a house fire. His wheelchair-bound mother also died in that fire. Word on the playground was that he had gotten up after his dad left for work and had set the curtains on fire while playing with matches. Whether this is an embellishment I don't know, but the story I remember was that, after setting the fire, Eric had run to his mother's side, though her disability left her unable to get out of the house. Eric was a red-haired boy that I remember as being not very popular. I don't know why, though this was the third grade -- kids in third grade don't need a good reason.

I remember walking home from school that day, and taking an alternate route that would pass by Eric's house. I could see his orange-lined green winter jacket hanging in the entryway, and remember thinking how nobody would wear it ever again.

It seems like traces of most people can be found on the internet. When I did a quick google search, for his name, I didn't find anything. But I still think of him every February 15, and how he barely had a chance to count the valentines that his classmates grudgingly gave him the day before.