A friend of mine died last week. He was 25. His name was Jim.

It's so very strange to have someone you know die this young. The cause is nearly always a tragic accident of some sort: a motorcycle crash or falling into a river and being carried away by the current. Jim died in a small plane crash in northern Colorado on Wednesday, August 4.

***

I have so many things I want to ask him. Not important things. I want to ask him which albums be bought off of Amazon's monthly mp3 $5 albums. There are usually 100, this month there are 1000, and I don't know where to start. I want to ask him how his cat is. I want to ask him how he likes Boston in the summer.

***

I don't know if it's irony or what, but I keep thinking back to all those months that I was so sure he was going to die in Iraq. He had joined the army right out of high school, served a tour in Korea, and then began attending Lewis & Clark College. With me. And all my friends.

In 2006 he was called back up. He was able to make a case for finishing out the year, but headed to Iraq in the summer of 2007. And I was so worried.

I had a google news alert for his name. Just in case.

When he came back in 2008, I was so happy. We all were.

***

One time, in early 2007, he showed me an indie band with a male guitarist who he thought looked like me. What was that band, Jim? I can't remember.

***

He is one of the brightest kids I know. And of everyone I know, he is the person who most deserved to reach old age. He could be a fairly crotchety 25 year old. I couldn't wait until we were old together, drinking his home-brewed ginger beer and complaining about the youth and their lack of respect. He had no time for bullshit and even less time for whiners.

***

Was it TV on the Radio? No, I would have remembered it like that, and, besides, that guy doesn't look anything like me. Maybe the band began with a w.

***

I went to visit him in Boston last autumn. I am so glad I did. We drank beer (gluten free for me) and watched the first two hours of Ken Burns's National Parks documentary.

He had a ball pit he and his girlfriend Chelsea made.

***

Passion Pit? No, they weren't around in early 2007. I wish I could just ask him.

***

As difficult as this is for all of us who counted Jim as a friend, the past few days have been exponentially worse for Chelsea. She lost her mother, her stepfather, and Jim as well in that plane crash. They were flying back home after visiting her at her summer job in Rocky Mountains National Park. The small, single engine plane didn't make it out of Colorado.

My loss is so small and pathetic compared to hers. My heart breaks for her.

***

I know it wasn't Jang Ki-ha and Faces. The band wasn't Korean, that's for sure. Maybe Canadian? I feel like I should be able to remember. I wanted to buy their CD. Or maybe I was just flattered that Jim saw them and thought of me.

***

Jim liked to dance. He was a Scottish country dancer and he owned his own kilt. It had many, many pleats. He thought utilikilts were a waste of good fabric, and if you were going to be wearing a kilt, it might as well be tartan.

He was a man of Opinions.

***

He and I danced together, many a time. We danced traditional Irish dances, Scottish dances, Israeli dances, Salsa, the Meringue, the Cha-Cha-Cha. We took a ballroom dance class together. He was a great lead, and I was a competent follow. He was my favorite partner in the class.

One time we went to Portland's largest Contra dance together, along with several other friends. The band was huge and the music was fast. He knew how to use centrifugal force (or centripetal, or whatever-- he was the physics major, not I) and he spun me like I'd never been spun before. I felt like anything was possible. I felt like I could fly.

***

He ironed all his clothes. I think that was something he picked up from the Army. Some of the protocol never left him.

***

I broke down crying last night when I realized he was probably still wearing his dog tags. I saw he was still wearing them when I visited Boston. I sort of pointed at them and said, "Really?" He didn't answer.

When the sheriff's department found the crash site, they thought there was only one person in the plane.

***

We first met on September 19, 2005. I know, because he was dressed as a pirate. For a long time I knew him only as "Jim the pirate kid." He was really good at talking like a pirate.

Other things he was really good at: mixing drinks, dating, fixing electronics, gathering people to eat waffles and drink wine and play wii. Making tacos. Making me laugh.

***

I wish I could talk to him again. I wish I could see him again. I wish I knew what band he showed me in 2007. I think it was Wintersleep, second in from the right. But I'll never know for sure.

***

I knew Jim pretty well. But I'll never get to know him better. I'll never hear all his stories from his time in Iraq. I will never get to dance with him again.

I hope he died without feeling any pain.