Before You Do Something Stupid With A Car I Want You To Think Of Her

My friend Heather is amazing. In addition to being exceptionally bright and an extremely talented actress, she’s also a warm and loving person. The way I can best put it is that she’s one of those people who, when something good happens, you want to immediately tell because you know she’ll make you feel even better about it. I have so many blessings in life, and there’s so much I’d love to tell her in person, but I can’t, because 20 years ago she was needlessly killed by someone being stupid with a car.

I can’t believe it’s been 20 years. She was always a little older, a little cooler, imbued with the kind of wisdom of two more years on Earth, which is worth a lot you’re so young. I’m not young anymore, but she always will be.

This is turning out to be harder to write than I thought. There was a rough outline in my head about what I’d say, and it doesn’t quite feel right. If you don’t end up reading any further, the crux of it is that I am the last person who can tell you not to do something dumb with a car. I love doing stupid things with cars. The important difference is that I try to be careful about doing it in a way that, if something goes wrong, I am the only one who gets hurt. The kid who killed my friend, who was also unimaginably young at the time of the crash, didn’t think like I do, and now all of us have to live with that mistake. All of us but her.

Maybe this doesn’t work if you don’t know Heather, so I need to talk about her a little bit.

It was a fluke that I got to know her. She was a year older. We went to rival high schools and, though we shared a love of theater, we didn’t really mix in the same circles. She was also just so much more of a fully formed human being than I was, and, for all my false confidence, I’m not sure I could have talked to her were it not for a bit of good luck.

Her high school was hosting its annual debate tournament, and it was about to turn into a disaster. Judges were being sent to the wrong rooms, rounds were being missed, and people were starting to notice. I was president of my school’s Speech & Debate team and was friendly with her school’s team (both of our football programs were bad, so the rivalry was more for amusement than pride). The tournament director asked if I could help, and, having already qualified for state, I was in no position to say no.

I had two requests, though. I’d need a walkie-talkie, and I’d need a runner to go with me to help cover the rooms.

As you might guess, I did not need a runner. I just made it up. I saw her across the room, a volunteer from the drama department somehow glowing in a green Conroe High School Theater t-shirt. I could barely see anything else.

She probably caught on fairly quickly that her assistance was not absolutely necessary, but she was kind enough not to let on as we wandered the halls trying to put everything straight before the whole tournament went off the rails. It was great. I don’t remember anything I did to help, but I do remember not wanting the problem to be solved too quickly. Just listening to her talk about her life, her schoolwork, her dreams… I barely felt nervous talking to her, even though I couldn’t ignore that she was very cute.

The nervousness didn’t come until the end when I asked her for a number. If we’d have gone to the same high school and she’d have known how much of a dork I was, this might not have gone so well. We exchanged notes and poems via text and AIM (she always loved Emily Dickinson). What followed was the briefest of romances–she did get to learn how much of a dork I was.

Though I wasn’t happy at the time that it ended, she gave me real confidence to back my bluster. It also probably didn’t hurt my romantic prospects that the girls at my school saw me dating someone as impressive and beautiful as Heather. Most importantly, I gained a great friend. A confidant. A hype man. Someone always in my corner.

There’s no way to know how someone’s life is going to turn out, I suppose. Everyone has a friend they think will make it as an athlete, musician, or actor. It doesn’t always happen, but with Heather, I don’t have many doubts. Her college was not too far from my own, and I was lucky enough to see her perform somewhat regularly. She’s just one of those actors who feels like a person you’ve watched your whole life, even if she’s only been on stage for 10 seconds.

It’s been 20 years. I almost couldn’t believe it when I saw it on Facebook. In the back of my mind, I knew this was coming. While I think about her often, the business of life and the passage of time mean that I don’t talk about her every day. It’s on her birthday and the day of her passing that her friends and family all post in the shared Facebook group, which, other than this job, is one of the few reasons why I still look at Facebook.

I remember getting the call. It was the next day, and her college roommate was on the other end of the phone. I was probably excited because I thought it was going to be about everyone meeting up one more time before the summer was over. Heather had been doing summer stock theater in Farmington, New Mexico, and had secured a job in New York that would make it possible for her to start auditioning — the first step in what I’m sure was going to be an amazing career.

Time stopped. It was awful. All the cliche denial and anger. It just didn’t seem possible. I didn’t want to believe it. I still don’t want to believe it. It’s painful in a way that still hurts two decades later. I keep having to stop writing this, because it’s just a little too fresh still. Somehow.

This is where you come in, I suppose. You should know that the person who killed her was driving a modified truck and was doing what you might call street racing. It was late at night, and Heather was leaving the performance in her metallic blue Mazda. She went through a green light at a normal rate of speed; he went through a red light at way more than the speed limit, and that was it. In a terrible act of cowardice, he fled the scene. He was later caught and went to prison.

My faith tells me it’s my obligation to forgive, and I’ve long since forgiven him. I’m sure that’s what she would have wanted. She was always thinking of other people. Her parents were visiting that week and saw her performance. During her last day on earth as just a 22-year-old, she told them that, if she didn’t make it in the business, she’d at least like to help other people try to follow their dreams.

That’s who she was. That’s who we lost.

Her dream does live on in that way, though. For 20 years, the Heather McGaughey Four Corners Theatre Academy has been helping young performers in the area work on their craft. It’s a beautiful tribute, but also a thing that didn’t need to exist. Or at least not yet. Not with her name on it. Not until the naming was out of recognition for her long and impressive career.

I know that most of you are not inclined towards putting anyone else in danger. That’s not the sense I get from most of this community. But things happen. Temptation exists, and I know I’ve felt it. All I’m asking is, when that temptation appears, you think about Heather and ask yourself if it’s worth it. If you’re sure that if it all goes sideways that everyone involved was aware of the risk.

Accidents happen on race tracks, and that’s a tragedy, but those people know they’re on a race track and should know the risks. My friend Heather wasn’t on a race track. She was just going home, ready to start her life. It’s not fair, and it never needed to happen.