The only person I've ever known who died was this kid from my school. He was a troublemaker and pretty quiet, and hardly anyone knew him, it seems, but whenever I talked to him he seemed pretty nice. He lived with his dad outside of town and rode a BMX motorcycle to school every day. Then one day he didn't come to school, and we heard the afternoon before he had gone out to ride some trails and his bike flipped when he tried a jump and the wheel came down on his chest. No one found him for several hours until almost nightfall. The doctors said he probably could have lived if he had told someone where he was going, or if someone had found him earlier. It felt strange to think that he was dead. It made me think of how one day I'll die, too, and so will my baby. It's an uneasy thought.