Bad news now, thanks to the speed of the internet, travels faster than light. It is jarring, in the same way that sudden accidents are jarring. You fall off your bicycle, and your always inconsequential thoughts come to a screeching halt. You think – hey, that wasn’t important, what’s important is the extent of my injuries. You first check yourself over, and then if you are okay, you next check your bicycle over. If you are hurt, you summon help. That’s if you are conscious. If you are unconscious, you probably go through the same thought process, but someone else has to figure out the who, what, when, where, and why of accident particulars.

I came upon the bad news as I was checking out my email. It was a group email and the header indicated that my former mentor and teacher, Frank Soos, had a fatal bicycle accident. He was on vacation in Maine. The last time I heard from him, he said he was going to Maine and this was why he would not be at the Bright Lights Book Project reading.

I am glad about two things. The first is that Jessie, who with Frank was co-editing the Wheels on Ice anthology, was at the reading, and after sent a photo of her and I together. I was wearing my Dr. Suess hat. This, I thought, would make Frank smile. The second thing is that in a previous email, I told him that he was the best teacher I ever had.

The book that came from Alys's MFA Thesis

I needed closure, fast, and I got it. I called and spoke to Jessie – it turned into a revelatory and much-needed conversation. Jessie is, among other things, an airplane pilot, so she is used to remaining levelheaded when under the weather. This very wise woman, unknowingly, filled in a few gaps for me. I told her that I hadn’t talked to Frank in close to 30 years, this was before he asked me to contribute to the Wheels on Ice anthology. I said that I was puzzled as to why he didn’t reach out to me years earlier.

Jessie said that Frank spoke of me fondly to her, which of course I appreciated hearing. I then realized that he might have thought that there was no need to keep in touch. She also forwarded me two essays that Frank wrote – in the first, in which on a late-night ski he, in a very Montaigne-like fashion, writes about being alone. He writes, “I think we do die as we pretty much live, alone.” So, he was a man who was in his own head a great deal of the time. Then too, he writes about his having taken on the persona of a teacher. This, taking on the persona, means that I did not really know him. I knew him as a teacher, and when I graduated, the teacher/student relationship came to an end. Nothing replaced it. Most likely, nothing could. I needed to move on, and maybe he knew this.

In the second essay he writes about attending a solstice party at Madge Clark’s place in Fairbanks. This was a real blast from my past because I used to attend those yearly parties. He mentions Putt Clark, Madge’s daughter, and that she hosted this event. Whoa. Double whoa – he also writes about being in a bicycling accident in Maine; this was in 2015. This, I was led to understand, was an earlier accident. However, his mentioning this was an eerie premonition.

Well, we reconnected a bit over a year ago – sort of. He remained reticent. I’m left now, with his very wise words, “we’re here to do what can, what we love, for as long as we are able.” Frank died doing what he most loved, riding his bicycle. For this, I am grateful.

Next: 232. 8/23/21: Sorting through Theology Books