When I look back over my life, I see a relatively trauma-free, happy existence.

I never broke any bones; I avoided braces in junior high; my family is still together; and none of my good friends had died... until this summer.

Just over one month ago Deshaun R. Hill'99 and Harvard C. Stephens'99 were killed in an auto accident in California. They were both working at major technology companies--Harvard at Microsoft and Deshaun at Intel. They were magical partnerships and perfect for these two rising stars.

As are all students here, Harvard and Deshaun were amazing in every respect. I can remember meeting them both during our first years and doing the things first-years do: going to parties, getting addicted to the Internet and taking Computer Science 50.

I'll always remember smaller things like the way Harvard introduced himself--and everyone did a double take because we couldn't believe there was a guy named Harvard--or the way Deshaun just loved to dance. Yet now, I won't hear or see them again.

When I first heard the news, I was hard-pressed, to believe it, but I assumed I'd handle it with what I then thought was strength and maturity. Of course there were tears, but I attempted to force myself away from sadness.

I had always been the type of person who considered death "just a part of life." I was the person who told upset and distressed friends that "everything happens for a reason" and other such mystical and macrocosmic b.s.

I have since heard countless other explanations such as: "God decided to take His most beautiful children," or "At least they died when they were young and happy." But there's only so much you can say, and you can't be rational about irrational things like the death of two promising young men. When faced with the reality of death, all the sayings and explanations don't do a thing for the reality of pain and anger.

I find myself angry at them for not wearing seatbelts. I find myself pained to know that two very positive black men won't complete their great plans. And it simply hurts to know that when I move back into Claverly Hall, they won't be there to plan our business ventures, talk about women or mooch off my microwave popcorn.

However, I have learned a lot from this tragedy. I now have a more precious and respectful attitude toward life in general. And in spite of the hurt that I and their family and friends will feel for a very long time, we were all blessed with the opportunity to know Harvard and Deshaun.

When I think about how different life will be without them, I think how their parents must be devastated, how former teachers and former lovers will mourn, how current class discussions and party atmospheres will change.

In the midst of all the sadness and confusion, one thing has become absolutely clear to me--one of the most overused cliches of our time is absolutely true: one life really does make a difference.

Deshaun and Harvard are proof.

Baratunde R. Thurston '99 is living on campus this summer. He is working as a network assistant for the summer school while trying to maintain his sanity.