Davin Gong Professor Klepper Honors 212B 1 May 2013 Eternity Etched in Eighteen The number 13 is unlucky.

If you are in the University District in Seattle youll realize that the avenues are numbered, but between 12th and 14th theres no 13th, just Brooklyn Avenue. Youll rarely find a hotel or corporate office with a floor labeled 13 either. People are afraid of living or working on that floor, so high-rise contractors simply omit it when they make their elevator buttons. Thats the superstition of America, I guess. Yet on the 13th of March in 1994, a woman named Denise gave birth to a healthy baby girl named Mandy. In the womb, Mandy was diagnosed with a rare condition called Cystic Hygroma. The doctors told Denise that Mandy would probably not survive and even if she did, shed certainly have debilitating heart, vision or hearing problems. Twenty four hours went by, then 48, then 72. Mandy had survived, luck was on her side. Little did the doctors know, Denise had given birth to a beautiful little angel. I first met Mandy in the fall of my freshman year of high school, on the first day. I walked into class as a timid 14-year old and found a seat in the back by myself. Then the bell rang, but a cute 5-foot tall girl with dark brown locks entered the room unaware of her tardiness. Her gait was light and nimble, and she wore capris and a plaid blue top that perfectly enhanced those piercing hazel eyes. She looked around quickly with a bemused grin and we made brief eye contactI quickly dropped my gaze to the ground in embarrassment, but it was too late she was already heading towards the vacant seat next to me. Hi, Im Mandy, she said. Davin, I stammered. Gavin? No, its Davin I offered with more authority, Davin with a D. Oh! Ive never heard of that name before. But I like it, she smiled. Thanks, I managed to smile back. The teacher, Mrs. Hill, then introduced herself to the class. We would be learning how to write expository essays this semester. The instructions were to

write a fun fact about ourselves on an index card and then pass it in, so Mrs. Hill could get to know us. I perused thoughtfully for a few minutes, and decided to write down that I loved swimming. Mandy rummaged in her backpack for a bit before asking to borrow a pen, for which I quickly obliged. She glanced at my card and we struck up a long conversation about sports: her being a gymnast and me being a swimmer. We bonded so much during that class that Mrs. Hill had to ask us to stop chatting while she was instructing. Of course, it wasnt hard to tell that I had a massive crush on Mandy. Mrs. Hill knew it. The class probably knew it. However, I also knew that Mandy would never date the soft-spoken kid in me. Truthfully, I was just ecstatic that she had chosen to sit next to me, the scrawny and awkward boy. Little did I know, I wouldnt be the last shy kid she sat next to. Unfortunately, after that first semester I didnt have any more classes with her until junior year. We stopped talking, but I still had those butterflies in my stomach every time I saw her in the hall. She gravitated toward the popular kids by nature. Everyone knew who Mandy was after our first year. She had even dated a senior by the end of freshman year. Not surprisingly, on the other end of society there was meone of the nerdswho regularly attended Science Olympiad and Math Club meetings after school. The great thing about Mandy was that she didnt care what clique I belonged to, and would usually give me a high five whenever we crossed paths often followed by Whats good D-Gong? During the summer before my sophomore year I grew almost 4-inches, which helped me athletically in the pool as a swimmer as well as socially among my peers. I immersed myself in the sport, and made several good friends that year. Slowly, my social status floated into a limbo between the nerds and the jocks. I hated to identify with either group because both have negative connotations and cliques are incredibly stupid, but that was the reality of it. I worked my butt off both in the classroom and in the pool. One day while sitting in the cafeteria with a number of friends, I realized that two tables over, there was a boy sitting by himself eating his nachos quietly. A minute passed when he was joined by a young lady with a checkered green backpack. She sat directly next to him with her back towards me even though the round table had enough seats for ten. I watched with intrigue as the boys eyes lit up and his cheeks emanated a faint red. Although I couldnt hear what she was saying to him, judging by his reaction, he looked surprised and pleased at who was keeping him company. As far as I could tell, no one else in the lunch room was aware of the compassion that was extended from the popular girl to the quiet

boy. In him, I saw my past. That young lady was Mandy. Its the little things, like spending lunch time with someone who couldve used the company, that best describe Mandys personality. In our final year of high school, Mandy was elected the Vice-President of the Associated Student Body. She was a four-time varsity lettering gymnast, Co-Captain of the team, and a competitor at the elite Washington State Meet. She worked part-time as a gymnastics coach for kids ages twelve and younger almost every day. She was recognized at the Best of Women award ceremony in 2012 by the Soroptimists International because of her volunteer hours reading to homeless children at the local shelter. What most people didnt know was that Mandy had a stash of hand warmers in her car at all times so that she could pass them out to the less fortunate during the cold seasons. Southwest Washington is chilly in the winter, especially since the Pacific Northwest weather is consistently cold and wet. One cold winter evening in 2012 she packed sandwiches for herself and a friend before they went to a Portland Trail Blazers basketball game, but before they arrived at the Rose Garden Arena, Mandy had given the sandwiches away. She had apparently yelled at her friend, the driver, to pull over so she could roll down the window and hand the old man the PB&Js. Underneath her mountain of accolades, Mandy was incredibly down to earth and witty as anyone I knew. We took AP English Literature together in our senior year and it just happened to be the 1st period class of the day. Mandy probably showed up to class on time, about 5% of the time. She had a knack for walking in lateusually right after the Pledge of Allegiance was recited through the PA system. Upon entrance, she would skip over to her desk with a beaming smile on her face. The funniest part was that our teacher couldnt get angry with her. Who could? On July 1st, 2012, Mandy and three friends were driving down to Santa Cruz, California for her senior trip. Immediately before she left, she kissed her mother Denise on the cheek. I love you mom. See you in a week. This was the last time her mother would ever hear her beautiful daughters voice. When the quartet crossed the Californian border, Mandy moved to the backseat to sleep and took off her seat belt. The driver glanced off the freeway for a split second and subsequently lost control; the car careened into a ditch off the shoulder of the road and rolled over three times. Mandy was ejected from the vehicle with life threatening injuries. Emergency responders had to life-flight her to the Hospital Trauma Center. Her three friends were discharged with minor injuries. We were told her condition on a scale of 1-10 (with 10

being the worst) she was a 10, and her survival was very unlikely. Twenty four hours went by, then 48, then 72. Mandy had survived, but her spine was broken and her brain was swelling. She would either remain in a coma or end up paralyzed from the neck down. Mandy had helped those in need her entire life, and now the community came together to help her in her most dire minute. Her little gymnasts made signs that said Pray for Coach Mandy for the stemming fundraising movement: local burger joints donating a portion of their sales, car washes, and t-shirt sales. I had just returned home from playing soccer when I logged onto Facebook and saw the news. I sank to my knees, the sky was spinning. This couldnt be happening. She would be fine tomorrow, I lied to myself. She always was. Her glowing face appeared and we were standing together in the hallway back in high school. I brushed her chin with my finger even though she had just told me that she hated when people did that. Her brows furrowed for just a second, and then that signature grin appearedYou smartass, she scolded me. I laughed and apologized, and asked her to be co-host of the talent show I was organizing. Id love to! she replied. That was Mandy. She never turned down anything if it meant helping someone else, no matter how busy she was. A thousand needles stabbed my ribs as the realization sunk inI might never hear that voice again. She was in the hospital for what felt like an eternity. The doctors believed in miracles, and while Mandy was still in a coma, Denise lightly brushed her daughters chin. Mandys arm twitched. That wasnt supposed to happen; she was supposed to be paralyzed. Somewhere in that small, crushed body there was a glint of her soul. At the moment, we had so much hope, so much faith. But it didnt last long. Eighteen days after graduation she was lying almost lifeless on the side of the road, and eighteen days after that, Mandy passed away peacefully in Denises arms in a quiet hospital room in Redding, California. She was only eighteen years old. The date was July, 18. Nine months have passed since shes been gone. Things have changed. Many of my classmates have dispersed across the nation. Many will graduate from college in a few years; many will get married, find jobs, and settle down with their families. One never had and never will have those experiences. I still think about her every day, and the hole in my heart hasnt completely healed. The friends Ive made here, at the University of Washington, sympathize when I tell them Mandys story, but they will never know more than a fraction of the angel that has graced this world.

Ive handed out the last of my hand warmers on this chilly da y in downtown Seattle and make my way back to my dorm room. When I get to the corner of Brooklyn Avenue I watch the bustle of the cars driving by endlessly. I wonder if the drivers ever slow down and think how blessed they are to be alive while blankly operating these machines of destruction. Time is of the essence. I think that while taking in the natural beauties around us, we, as people need to start relying on each other to make those special moments - as little as they may be, it all makes a difference. All in all, what Im basically trying to say is I dare you, take my breath away, please. Mandy Lathim. Oh Mandy, always years ahead of your age. I am living 2013 for you. We will meet again. I decide its going to be a good day, a lucky day.