That might be the dead boy’s mom, out there on the dance floor….

A major high school athlete is killed in a hit and run. Kid was walking across an unlit street. Killed instantly.

I drive out to the house. His uncle is there. He can’t talk right now, he’s got to get ready.

People are coming over. Bunch of people. I ask if it’s all right if I stick around and talk to some family and friends.

Help yourself. Budweisers in the cooler.

This kid was going to be highly recruited. A class kid, good grades, good citizen, great work ethic, bushel of talent. A kid worth writing about.

Within 30 minutes, the house is full. I take some notes. Talk to a few people. But it’s not easy. They’re getting pretty loud. And it’s hard to catch people.

They’re jumping up to get another drink. They’re jumping up to dance. They’ve got the furniture all moved out of the way now.

Motown on the boombox. It’s cranking.

Fried chicken. But mostly it’s Crown Royal with beer chasers. Some of these family and friends are getting pretty toasted.

It’s almost noon.

That might be the mom out on the floor, grinding it with a guy. I tried to talk with her when she came in. But she was kissing this guy. He had his hands on her butt, pulling her tight. Snug.

I collar a few people, not many.

Yup, one says. Died last night. Run down.

Another one tells me the kid was in high school. Played football. Or mebbe basketball.

They’re starting a line dance now. I think a couple of these folks are gonna get a room.

I climb back in my car, head down the road. Call my boss.

Tell him I’m gonna skip this one.