My belated reading of his shortened life

By Douglas Curran '00MFA

A friend of mine, whom I'll call S.C., committed suicide on a Wednesday in February. On the following day, the _New York Post_ reported that his age had been 37; I thought he was 35, tops. I had known him for two years, and in that time, for me, I guess, he hadn't aged a day. The paper was unsure if he had landed in the water and then been washed ashore or if he had not touched the water at all. He had leapt from the George Washington Bridge somewhere just past noon on a day when the sun was bright and the sky blue.…

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