Love and light. Love and light. My dream is to be that wise old woman around which others gather to receive advice, guidance, and support. That is my vision for myself. And what makes that happen? Love and light. This is what I seek. 

I wasn’t always this way. I used to want to fight, to argue, to get my own way. To prove I was right. No matter the situation or the cost. I remember in high school when a teacher told me I should go to law school because I like to argue. That gave me pause.

I remember thinking about it then and knowing that I didn’t actually like to argue, I needed to prove I was right and sometimes, often times, that led to arguing. And, in fact, it hurt because the last argument I had had with a friend, a friend that was no longer a friend, had been the end of that friendship. It was about the meaning of the words. Oddly, it is just now as I write this, that I recall it was about death and the meaning behind the words used when someone is killed. It was the death of our friendship.

Mark Rickner was that friend. I argued a lot with Mark. He had the same desire – to be right. We argued over all the things we disagreed about. We never changed the other’s mind. We had to be right no matter the cost. The cost was a forever break in the friendship we had tried to cultivate. Until we both saw that the other would never give, we were friends.

For both of us, the power of the need to be right was stronger than the human connection.

I recall a happy time with Mark in high school days. He stopped by my house with his motorcycle and offered to take me on a drive. It was dark and the road I lived on was dangerous with hills. We rode like the wind. Me behind him holding on for dear life. Him, trying to impress with speeds over 100 mph – as fast as he could go. It was breathtaking. It was thrilling. It was one of those memories that was so important to me I memorialized it in an essay for literature class. (Copied at the end for the curious.)

One thing that didn’t make it into the essay though was the scar I received. I didn’t listen when I was told to be careful as I got off the bike. I was wearing shorts and got a nasty burn on my leg – a scar that was there for years after to remind me of the fun times. To remind me of my friend. To remind me of when we were happy together.

Eventually the scar disappeared. It took much longer to heal than it took for our friendship to end. It took less time to heal than the scar on my heart over the loss of that friend. After the friendship died and was buried, we both went on with our separate lives.

And yes, I had a crush on him. Of course, we were teenagers and I had a massive crush on Mark. Returning to the teen vernacular of the day, he was “a fox”. He was super smart and I loved to hang out with him, talk, and yes, argue. It never evolved beyond that. But that was okay. There were other boys for me to crush on and he found his true love, married her, and grew a family.

But I carried a scar inside over that loss. A scar that only healed recently when I learned to love myself. We so often seek from others that feeling that we are lovable, that we are important, that we have purpose. The problem is, other people are just as human as we are.

Everybody has their own shit to deal with and until we learn to love ourselves and to love others with compassion and understanding, those scars remain.

I’d like to think that one day I could find my way back to a friendship with Mark; to laugh, to talk, to argue – this time with the intent to find joy in the discussion, rather than the intent to be right on every point.

Sadly, that day has passed. Mark was killed nearly five years ago in a car accident. His family heartbroken and my scar still there. I didn’t attend the funeral; I told myself I didn’t care. That friendship dissolved so long ago that I didn’t think it even mattered. Yet, oddly, as I sat down to write this article for February, this is what’s on my heart. That old scar and my now healed heart.

My heart healed by going inside myself through meditation. It healed by breathing out all the pain from the past. It healed by my deciding to be honest with myself about what I feel. It healed by accepting who I am with all of my flaws. It healed by cultivating love for myself, love for the imperfection, love for just being.

I love myself and that is its own miracle.

I love so many others in my life and they love me; but loving myself is the one thing that is allowing these scars to dissolve. Those scars that grew because there was no ability to have or show compassion for others. Now I am free from so many scars. And today this scar is healed. I loved Mark. He was my friend. And today I have compassion for who he was. I have compassion for those teenagers, clueless and learning to navigate a transition to adulthood. I forgive myself and I forgive Mark for the pain we caused each other with all of those arguments.

And inside I find peace, I see his smile, and I hope the loved ones who mourned him always see his smile, and smile with love themselves when they think of him.

An essay written by Dawn Davis for Mrs. Turner’s Literature class.

Chapel Heights Academy, October 22, 1986

“Midnight”

The night was dark, the moon was full, and I felt like doing something outrageous. Something I wouldn’t do if I were in a sane mood. So I went. I went on a motorcycle ride with Mark Rickner. We flew over the treacherous hills of 600 East until we reached State Road 22. At first, thoughts of death flashed through my mind; but I quickly put those thoughts to rest for I knew that if I died, I would never do such a foolish thing again.

After we reached State Road 22, Mark turned the bike around and headed for home. As we were speeding along at 130 miles an hour, I kept praying that we would make it home safely. Thank God we did.

But Mark’s ride was not yet finished. Then again it was, for as we reached my driveway, he ran out of gas. I quietly laughed to myself as he pushed his motorcycle home.

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