I transferred to James Madison University in 1995. I’d gone to Mary Baldwin College down the road and had a fairly mediocre experience (which is an entry for another day) and went to visit my dear friend Alex up at JMU. He took me on a tour of the campus, and as we walked along the streets and up the stairs near the stadium, I fell in love with the campus. I applied for transfer admission and enrolled in the fall of 1995.
A few weeks after moving to Harrisonburg, I met Danville. I can’t remember the exact moment we met - the circumstances or events leading up to it, but before long, Danville was so entrenched in my life I can’t imagine not ever having met him. He was just always there. I remember spending time with him on Sunday nights in one of the lounges. During spring semester, we shared a class together, so we’d meet for lunch and go to class. He’d email me silly forwards or just little messages saying hi. For Christmas that year, we decided to be each other’s secret Santas, so we went to the mall and bought each other a little bottle of the CK1 fragrance. I remember laughing as we went up to the gift wrapping counter and got it wrapped, and then a few days later trading packages and making a big to-do about unwrapping it.
I remember the time I found out that Danville’s name wasn’t Danville. We were in a lounge one evening and I wanted to “vend” something from a machine - use my dining dollars on my ID card to pay for a soda and a snack. I forgot my ID card, so Danville loaned me his. I looked at his card and exclaimed, “Hey. Your name isn’t Danville!”
He looked at me quizzically. “I know that!” Turns out that Danville was a nickname he’d inherited his freshman year from another friend, because he hailed from Danville, Virginia, and it stuck. Everyone called him Danville. He called himself Danville.
I remember bits and pieces of our friendship very vividly. I remember riding with him in his maroon car with the broken window that wouldn’t roll down. The picture at the top of the entry is when we sat outside Ashby and blew smoke bubbles. For 1996, he had two resolutions: he’d do something good and then do something bad to balance it out, so for him, that meant giving up meat and becoming a vegetarian, and learning to smoke. We spent many an afternoon and evening sitting out on the green bench on Ashby’s stoop, smoking and chatting between classes, instead of going to classes, after dinner, before lunch. I remember the glimmer in his eyes when he’d tease me because I could never flick my cigarette more than a foot away from me and the first (and probably only) time I ever did, he pretended he didn’t see.
We spent hours dancing in his room to Abba. We road-tripped to Charlottesville to see (e:) in concert. We rode in tight cars down to a bar in Charlottesville, with ten or fifteen other people packed in, to drink and dance the night away. And we once laid in the grass, tipsy, and stared up at the sky and stars.
The night this picture was taken I remember as being one of the best nights of college I remember. It was the beginning of May, and the end of the semester. Fifty or so really close friends in a community, playing music, laughing, and just enjoying each other’s company. Danville ran for and won the treasurer position for student government the following year. Much later that night, in the rain, Danville came up to my hall (I’d since moved out of that hall and up to another building on campus) and visited with me. We sat outside smoking. He asked me if I could keep his refrigerator over the summer (I was staying on campus) and I agreed. I remembered that I had borrowed his scientific calculator for an exam and he said not to worry about it, he wouldn’t need it that summer, anyway.
I had to go tend to something for work, and I asked if I’d see him again. He nodded yes. “This isn’t goodbye. I’ll be up here this summer, and we’ll hang out. And I’ll make sure to stop by before I leave Harrisonburg, for sure.” I nodded. We hugged, and he left.
That was the last time I ever saw my Danville alive.
A few nights later, I lamented to John, a friend of mine. “I didn’t see Danville leave! I didn’t say goodbye!”
John patted my hand and told me not to worry. “You’ll see him again. Don’t worry.” John and I had come from a quick dinner at Taco Bell, where we’d grabbed a quick bite with another friend, Christian, who had graduated and was moving back home.
Later on that night, John called me and my heart gave out. I never knew what it would be like for a heart to break and shatter until it did on May 9th, 1996. John called to tell me that Danville was in a horrible car accident and died that evening.
I remember precious little else about that evening, other than I think dropping the phone, and Cindy, who’d I dragged down to my room to see something, picking it up and asking what happened, because I was instantly in tears and distraught. She immediately called Renee from upstairs and I remember the thump, thump, thump of her steps as she ran down to come and comfort us. We all went upstairs to Cindy and Renee’s room and I remember smoking an entire pack of cigarettes, because I didn’t know what else to do. We made some phone calls, but I don’t remember who I called.
Once again, not too long after we’d all bade our farewells for the summer, all of Danville’s friends from our social group got together in Harrisonburg the night before the funeral. We sat around laughing, drinking, crying, and smoking. None of us knew what to do, except be with each other and love each other completely. We drove in packs down to Danville, to see our beloved Danville put to rest. Cindy, Renee and I walked down the aisle to his casket and it was jarring to see how very still he laid. I put a pack of his favorite smokes in the casket. I saw a little bit of blood behind his ear.
***
Ten years have passed since Danville passed away. After he died, we had memorial celebrations, we still talked about him, but since we graduated, we’ve scattered across the world. He was only five days from turning twenty, and I can hardlly believe that I am almost thirty, when Danville is only still nineteen. Ten years and I sit here, heart heavy, still remembering the heaviness of my heart back in 1996. I remember the deep embraces I shared with my friends as we grieved his loss and celebrated his life. I loved Danville with every bit of me and I am still resentful and angry that he is no longer in my life as a presence, only as a memory. When major events occur in the world, I can hardly believe that Danville is not around to see them and comment on them. When I met and eventually married Josh, I grieved Danville’s loss again, for as much as I can tell Josh all about Danville, he can never meet him, and that for me is a tragedy. In two short months, my son will be born, and all I can do is tell him about Danville, a great and wonderful man in his mother’s life who exists only in her memories and in pictures.
I’m putting Danville’s real name here in hopes that with google searches (and I’ll drop a link on myspace where I know some of my JMU people hang out) those who knew and loved Danville will come and say hi.
Matthew Lee “Danville” Montgomery
May 14, 1976 - May 9, 1996
