HSPVA changed my life. I had known about PVA for what seemed like FOREVER and in my head it was this shining beacon of not-normalcy. When I got there I didn’t think I was as cool as the cool kids, but for the first time since hitting the awkward adolescent-teenageness, I felt I was in the right place. 

And it’s there, in that right place, that I met Chris. I didn’t like Chris at first. I don’t remember why anymore. It seems unthinkable now. Maybe I didn’t like him because he seemed settled in the idea of not being like everyone else. I just didn’t GET that. Chris Hall. Brian Christopher Hall, who never went by his first name, was ok with exploring who he was. I was scared to. But at some point our relationship shifted and he became my friend. And then he became a friend I’d have forever.

I believe it was sophomore year when we had to do these ridiculous monologues. I don’t remember what monologue I did. But I do remember being on stage in the blackbox under the eyes of my fellow level 2’s doing some monologue and finally finally finding emotion within myself. (My note from Susie: I was always in my head.) I began to cry on that stage. And Susie said to the class, “Who takes care of Shawna.” There was silence and then Chris was the one who took care of me.

And he did. From that point on, he was always going to be in my life. For a long time both of us wore one of those friendship necklaces where half was a yin and half was a yang. Even when I went away to school, Chris knew I missed that PVA, and took me as his date to the senior prom. That was his way of telling me he loved me. He picked me up, I believe, in his uncle’s yellow convertible. No limo for him. Just that yellow convertible that he was so very proud of. In the summers between being away at boarding school, Chris and I and Rob and Charlie would hang out at Charlie’s house. We’d go to Sonic and the movies and just be angsty. I would use Chris as my alibi when I would really be at Rob’s house doing things teenagers probably shouldn’t do.

I went to his high school graduation. I talked to him on the phone when he was trying to figure out why he went to Morehouse and decided to transfer to NYU. I saw him graduate in that sea of purple at NYU. I saw shows and I tried to be his friend. I cuddled with him. I don’t think I could ever be as good of a friend to him as he was to me. He loved me unconditionally. 

In the last few years he would email me or call me and say things that would make me go “OH CHRIS.” But I chalked it up to eccentricity. And perhaps it was that. Perhaps it was more, but maybe all of that combined is what made him still want to explore himself and his world. I’m going to have to be ok with the idea of him dying while having an amazing life experience. He taught me that I need, no HAVE, to be willing to take risks in this silly little life I lead. It’s cliché. I know. But I’m not going to be afraid to explore who I am or the world around me. I will not be afraid. I believe Chris would not want me to be.

Back at PVA, there was this poem that Susie or Singleton made us memorize that has always stuck with me. For a long time I had a tattered copy of it in a box of photos and memories. I should live by it. I think Chris did:

To laugh is to risk appearing the fool.
To weep is to risk appearing sentimental.
To reach for another is to risk involvement.
To expose your ideas, your dreams,
before a crowd is to risk their loss.
To love is to risk not being loved in return.
To live is to risk dying.
To believe is to risk despair.
To try is to risk failure.
But risks must be taken, because the
greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing.
The people who risk nothing, do nothing,
have nothing, are nothing.
They may avoid suffering and sorrow,
but they cannot learn, feel, change,
grow, love, live.
Chained by their attitudes they are slaves;
they have forfeited their freedom.
Only a person who risks is free.