Memories of Megan

[alfe...@gmail.com]

Of course, everyone remember the hugs that Megan gave out. Constantly.
They were re-assuring and sweet and wonderful. Although, truth be told,
that was only one of two different kinds of hug in Megan's arsenal. The
other was more of a tackle than a hug. Prefaced by a screech of one's
name (Ferrrrnieeeee) and usually from behind, Meg would grasp you and
lift you and fairly often end up knocking your lanky frame to the
ground. But maybe that was just me.

A freshman in college, a freshman who was uncertain and uncomfortable,
found so much comfort with Megan. Her joy and her laughter and her
unbridled enthusiasm for anything you threw at her. Carrying trees into
the Shiva or getting choked with a plastic bag or founder's day squirt
guns and second story windows. Will touched on it, and he was correct.
Every positive aspect of a child, of an eight year old, was in Meg.
Everything that is good and lovely about children was there, the fun,
the excitement. But the negative traits that often go along with that
were conspiculously missing. She was never selfish or standoffish, but
offered all she had as a person and expected very little in return.
Perhaps a hug back. Perhaps a blonde wig used to impersonate Fran
Fergusson. Perhaps a hand in removing some carpet from a set. But those
were small prices to pay. I doubt she knew her impact on me at Vassar,
I doubt she knew that in those silly student plays I was in, it's the
ones she worked on I like best. Because no matter how awkward i felt,
if she was there, there was someone who I felt fully comfortable
talking with and sitting with and who could wipe away fears of "why am
I doing this?" Because the answer could always be "Well, at least Megan
is there."

I wish I could join you all this weekend on the East coast. My thoughts
and love are with all of you, and still with Megan, as well.

- Alex