There are moments in everyone’s life, when you remember exactly where you were when you first heard the news.

I was on my couch the morning the World Trade Centers came crashing down. I was in my father’s living room when Princess Diana died. And I was in my friend Jordan’s kitchen on the night O.J. Simpson led the police on a slow speed chase through Los Angeles in his white Ford Bronco. That was over 15 years ago. I was seventeen. Still in high school. And Jordan was my best friend.

Two years later he took the keys to his father’s new car and drove it head on into a wall. He left a note. I don’t know what it said.

For the last 15 years, every time I heard something about OJ, I thought of Jordan.

A straight “A” student. A gifted musician who could pick up any instrument and play it. My best friend. And he’s dead. And I hate him for it. And I’ve always hated him for it.

I’ve never been able to understand, what gave him the right to take his own life. We all have problems. He was 19 with his entire life ahead of him, and he took the easy way out. Suicide is for cowards.

Now 13 years after OJ Simpson was first acquitted for the murder of his wife, he has been convicted on separate charges. He’s going to jail for life.

There will be no new OJ stories. No new books. Nobody cares about OJ.

Which means I can finally lay Jordan to rest.

Love always,

-dylan

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