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I met Shane in 1988 or 1989 I'm not good with dates in Bar Harbor, Maine when he was attending the College of the Atlantic.We lived in the same town the same state, even only ilebfry, but if asked to count my closest friends over the past 20 years, I would name him among the handful. Bar Harbor, which is the epicenter of an island called Mt. Desert, was not only a college town but a tourist town, which attracted transients by the dozens, seasonal workers, people in between Grateful Dead shows, etc. Shane stood out among the tie-dyes in his simple t-shirts and khakis slouched on his lithe frame, his placid face holding that half-smile it was always hard to tell if he was serious. Shane had a bounce to his walk, but it seemed to propel him rather than impede him; he strode ahead, with purpose.We became fast friends, taking walks, sitting in his room there wasn't much to do in that town drinking coffee from his French Press, listening to the Pixies, talking about life.One day we took a rare venture onto The Mainland Ellsworth, Maine, the nearest biggish city. An acquaintance drove his big boat of a car in.Shane and I sat in the back like children being driven around on an errand.During that ride came an event I'll forget or entirely shake. On a busy stretch of strip-mall highway with no passing lane, our driver decided to advance in front of the car ahead. But he overestimated the space he had to work with as we sped along on the wrong side of the road, a car was rushing towards us head-on, much too near for comfort. In the rearview mirror I saw a look on the driver's face you don't want to see on a man steering your life at 60 miles an hour.He couldn't stop the car; all he could do was move forward and hope he could switch lanes in time.Shane and I gripped hands instinctually. I don't think we looked at each other, just sat staring straight ahead, frozen in terror. As evidenced by my existence, and the correct number of limbs, we made it, with nary a second to spare.That's one of the first memories that comes to mind when I think of Shane. . . it's not an entirely pleasant one, but in a sense it's the one which most summarizes our relationship. How I wish he were still here, the two of us catapulting forwards, gripping hands, holding on for Dear Life.