A PERSONAL TRUTH

Dying of Love

I met Dean Fawcett in primary school standing next to him in the milk line. He was a filthy uncared for kid who popped the perfect pink Bubble Yum bubble I was blowing. I punched him in the gut and his first grade self buckled with an “Oomph!” My guilt overwhelmed me and I picked him up and we became friends.

Like an abandoned dog looking for scraps or for anyone who will pay attention to him, Dean often wandered into our neighborhood unannounced looking for the same.

Every once in awhile we would let him play in our games, but many times I told my mom to say that I was unavailable as I hid behind the front door and fed lines to her.

Dean was never a play partner priority.
We did things with him when we had nothing to do.

On a summer break from college I ran into Dean at a local pantry store. After catching up on the years we’ve missed, I paid for my things and left. He followed me like he had years ago, still looking for scraps. I cut him short, “I’m busy Dean.” He instantly jerked back like the dog who has been tirelessly rejected of the warmth he is searching for.
I exited the parking lot in my used BMW 528e.

A year and a half later with my family gathered around the TV watching the local news, we learned that Dean Fawcett was beheaded by a group of 'friends'. I am sure he was looking for more warmth… and love.

I will never, ever forget that I could’ve have given it to him.

CASE UPDATE

In Memory of Dean Fawcett (We Love You), 2001
Oil, duct tape, wax on canvas
48 x 24 in.

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