As a pudgy middle school boy with glasses, headgear and overactive sweat glands, I was careful about picking my friends and always obeyed the rules so I wouldn’t stand out.
There were plenty of kids like me, just trying to slip by. But then there were those who naturally stood out, like Alyse Bedell, a pretty redhead I confessed my love to over Instant Messenger one night, or Will Bowser, the star of the basketball team. Sarah Grether was also on the list of those who stood out, not because she was beautiful or athletic, but because she did the one thing I would never do.
With her ripped black jeans, a black T-shirt and spiky dark brown hair, Sarah wasn’t a star pupil. She often argued with teachers and once confessed to me that she was suspended at least seven times in one year. She was a mystery to me. Why would she want to keep putting herself through all that? But as Sarah and I entered high school and eventually became friends, I realized what was behind her rebel antics. Sarah had the guts to fight for what she believed in. In middle school she was ahead of her time, but in high school her inquisitive and challenging nature made her one of the most unique and intelligent people I knew.
Sarah and I both found a passion in our high school’s newspaper. For me it was a way to make friends. For Sarah I think it was a way for her to voice her opinions. As a columnist, Sarah posed important questions on the curriculum, the state legislature and gun laws. These were things most people our age didn’t even know about, much less care about.
She cared deeply about politics and aligned with the Libertarian party. While she was out campaigning, I was still trying to figure out who was running.
We once worked on a story together about our school district’s budget and its need to eliminate teachers. Sarah understood the problem and its implications right away and helped explain it to me. My teacher said that I needed to put my name first in the byline, because I had done a majority of the writing. But the truth is, I could never have written it without Sarah. My name appeared first and now I’d give anything to change that. I should have stood up and said something. Sarah said she didn’t care, and it was probably true.
Because that’s who she was: caring, kind and un-resentful.
After our junior year, Sarah came out of the closet. It wasn’t totally surprising, but in a small, conservative town in Michigan, Sarah was one of a few brave high school students who called themselves a lesbian. Her courage inspired me and I think it also opened the minds of many of her friends and colleagues on the school newspaper.
On our last night of work at the newspaper, emotion and stress levels were high. Suddenly the electronic beat of Justin Timberlake’s “SexyBack” shot into the room and Sarah started moonwalking across the floor with a whip she had brought in to “whip writers into shape.”
We all danced to Sarah’s favorite song. In that instant, there wasn’t the pressure of college admissions, graduation or the future. It was just a group of friends dancing in the moment.
Almost three years later, the memories of my friend Sarah are fresh. They all came rushing back when I heard a month ago that Sarah had died. Sarah was driving home on Feb. 26 when she hit a patch of black ice and lost control of her car, colliding into oncoming traffic.
She was pronounced dead at the scene. It was a freak accident that could have happened to anyone.
The next day at lunch I sat staring at my cheeseburger and all I could think about was Sarah – her squinty smile, her infectious cackle and her brilliant mind. I wanted to stand up and tell the whole restaurant what a great person the world had just lost. It didn’t seem fair.
It wasn’t until that moment that I realized what a profound impact Sarah Grether had made on my life. She taught me the importance of standing up for what I believed in and made me less ignorant about homosexuality. She was the one I turned to when I needed articles edited or critiqued, and she was always honest.
Sarah is no longer a mystery to me. I know now that she wasn’t a troublemaker in middle school, just passionate about life.
A few weeks ago, I sat down on my bed, scrolled to “SexyBack” in my iTunes library and listened to the song in Sarah’s memory. I know she wouldn’t want it any other way.
Steven R. Thompson is a junior journalism major. He can be reached for comment at
[email protected].
