One of the hardest things for me is to write factual essays about people I care about, especially when they're gone. People are so complex--how can one shove their essence and life into scribbles on a page? Information on a machine? And yet, the unification of Nemo with a computer would be completely natural for him. And yet, would still completely miss out on who he was.

One of Nemo's friends e-mailed me yesterday with the news that Nemo had died...

His parents were big Jules Verne fans. He had really no friends at school, he was lonely, he was in pain. But he found his way through it. He was beyond brilliant, and that alone separates a soul from their environment. He read science fiction and the newspaper at lunch. He was kind and generous with his time. He was patient with me, and answered questions. He is, perhaps, my greatest regret--I have always wished I'd had more faith in myself and in him.

His parents were dedicated to he and his sister's educations; they were dedicated to forming intelligent children, perhaps to the detriment of other, more practical aspects of life. And yet, I find can find no fault in that.

I take happiness in knowing that things went well for Nemo, that he didn't remain who he had been in small town Idaho, but that he was free, and he flew.

I can only imagine how heartbroken his family is.

And still I can't capture his essence; I think it's because I'm still afraid.