Where I'm from, community bears on statistics, making them sag and wail. And so it seems like every year there around this time, it's always someone--young, often a boy--and a motorcycle, a car, or water. Headlines dumbly chase phone calls. But this time, the headline reached me first, at a public library, in an email message, among stock tips and sale notices, departmental announcements, and friendly hellos. Murky hints of an accident, paralysis, death; a broken link refusing to fill in what a shaky google search otherwise can, in excess: a boat, my coach, his son.