When I was just six months old, my parents, who work for the State Department, moved to Washington DC to do their periodic check-in with Big Brother. They lived in a town called Reston, Virginia, which had plenty of swimming pools, one within walking distance of our house.
My brother, Steve, was about five years old at the time, and loved the water. So, it happened, did our neighbor's son, Mac. Mac was about a year older than Steve, and the two took to each other immediately. Steve even joined the swim team with Mac, and was over at his house often.
Eventually, though, my parents' job called them away from DC and back overseas, and it was with a heavy heart that my brother left his first best friend behind. But Steve is resilient, and bounced back quickly in Lisbon, Portugal. And we came back to DC in the summer to visit often enough.
In on September 30th, 2001, when Steve was just starting his Freshman year in college and Mac was nineteen, a terrible car accident stole Mac's consciousness for a long time. And it wasn't even his...
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