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Effort, Pennsylvania

B ryan is immersed in studying for his master’s degree. Even though he’s been stuck at home, working remotely thanks to COVID, he’s doing so well that one of his professors, Michelle Bolger, wants to recommend him for a PhD in criminal justice at Washington State University.

She’s only ever recommended one other person.

Bryan is feeling elated.

But soon after March 16, his phone pings with the news that Jeremy Saba is dead.

The facts are tragically familiar: Saba was found upstairs in his bedroom. A lethal dose of fentanyl killed him. Extraordinary what a small pill can do.

Earlier, he had been tinkering with a car in the driveway, then drove off in it to go get some oil, he’d told his mother. Minutes later he was home. And then dead. The local police took his phone and computer, but they never found the dealer.

Bryan is away when Jeremy dies. His parents had wanted to keep the news from him until he returned because they knew how hard it would hit.

All that’s left for Bryan are memories. Memories of Jeremy, as high as a kite, making them all walk “the yellow brick road”—the dotted painted lines on the highway.

Jeremy driving his Mazda; Jeremy playing video games; Jeremy working out.

The last time Bryan’s parents saw Jeremy, he’d been doing well, apparently. Mr. and Mrs. Kohberger had run into Jeremy and his parents at the Texas Roadhouse, a steak house in Stroudsburg. It was a good meeting. Bryan’s dad told Jeremy he was proud of him for getting clean.

Now Bryan pounds the table with his fist.

He doesn’t phone Jeremy’s parents. He won’t even attend the memorial service for Jeremy or contribute to the memorial page online.

He knows that the tipping point for Elliot Rodger was the loss of his best friend, James Ellis.

“If only he were still my friend,” Rodger had written of James.

Bryan gets it.

If only Jeremy were still alive.