I still remember the day River Phoenix died. I was in love with him, of course. O.K. I didn’t know him enough to love love him, but I loved the thought of who I thought he was.
And I remember the day he died quite clearly in my mind. I came home from dinner with friends and heard on the late night news about his untimely and at the time mysterious death. I remember the devastated, crushed ache of my young early twenties heart. As time went on, all I could think about when I heard his name or saw one of his movies was what a terrible waste his death was — all that fantastic talent gone in the blink of an eye, snuffed out because of stupidity.