July 18, 2001
9:35pm

I have felt the need to write for a long time but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I suppose it takes a while to adjust after your world changes.

One day last week I was washing dishes at the kitchen sink when I received a call. The voice on the line was small and timid. It wasn't the type of disinterested disembodied voice that is typical of most telemarketers. I could tell she hadn't called to sell me something.

"Hi," said the small voice,"This is Missy. I don't know if you remember me."

At first I thought she was a girl I had gone to high school with. I heard she had become a stripper, but I had heard that same rumor about a lot of my former classmates so I put no stock in it. Despite the good money, I just don't think stripping is that popular of a profession.

"This is Shannon's sister."

Ah, yes. Shannon's sister. I remember her. Short blonde haired blue eyed girl that looked just like Shannon's mother and nothing like Shannon. The last time I saw Missy she was 15. That was years ago.

"Shannon's dead."

It took me a while to process that phrase. Dead? What did she mean Shannon was dead? What did she mean by that? I still don't think I comprehend the full meaning of such a phrase.

I thought I should be shocked or sad or something. The truth is, I didn't feel anything. So I faked it. I faked surprise and grief and sorrow. I asked her how it happened and if there was anything I could do for her family. When I was done faking my sympathy, I hung up.

Shannon came into my life during second grade, also known as the worst year of my life. I had just moved to Bedford. Our new home was a townhouse that was sandwiched in on three sides. There was no basement, which made me paranoid that we were destined to bite the big one if a tornado ever came through. Out front was a pretty patch of lawn that was cut every Thursday by men in big orange lawnmowers. Our lawn sported the big gray generator that supplied electricity to our courtyard of houses. In later years my mom would constantly yell at the children to stop climbing on it for fear they would be zapped. Our address was 666. Not many people came to visit us.

Our neighborhood was very quiet and very lonely. All the children there were mere infants, so I had no one to play with. Every day I would sit in the corner of the playground and watch the other kids have fun. Every day I would come home and bawl my eyes out because I was so lonely. This, of course worried my mother tremendously. There was nothing she could do for me. I could not be comforted. I suppose that's why I have trouble telling her things to this very day. I never want her to be that worried about me ever again.

I was in pretty bad shape. My misery carried me to the kitchen one day, where I somehow found myself pressing a large kitchen knife into my seven-year-old chest. I was intent on ending my life in some wonderfully tragic fashion. Oddly enough, the thing that stopped me from following through was my mom's immaculately clean white kitchen. I imagined my red, red blood spurting out all over the place. Then I thought about how mad my mom would be if she had to clean up that mess. In my strange seven-year-old mind, that was a good enough reason to cease attempts at suicide.

I soon ran into Shannon, who happened to live in the courtyard behind me. She had been living there at least a year or so before I came. She was an only child too, and had no one to play with but her dolls. I think that's why she was so ecstatic to see me. She was the only kid in the neighborhood my age.

Shannon was born jaundiced and had always had problems with her kidneys. She needed a liver transplant. She was a sick girl, even though it didn't seem that way when she tore through the neighborhood on her ten speed. I think that's why her grandmother (who was her guardian) often gave her whatever she wanted. Unfortunately, this caused her to be a little bratty sometimes. Children who are used to getting there way aren't very tolerant of playmates who don't cave in to their demands. However, my lonliness didn't allow me to be too picky and I often genuinely had fun with Shannon.

In fifth grade Shannon pleaded with her grandmother to move away, and so they did. I remember thinking the move would be good for her. She was often made fun of in Bedford. Moving could mean a fresh start with people who wouldn't be mean to her. Shannon could definately be a pest, but she didn't deserve all the bad comments that were made about her.

I must admit I didn't make a huge effort to keep in contact with her, but she never lost track of me. She moved to Twinsburg during high school and I was able to visit her more. She was the first of my friends to own a car so I often went out with her. I've never been one for clubs, but I indulged in it anyway for her sake. We also hung out a lot with Derek, my boyfriend at the time. She absolutely loved him (Then again, everyone loved him. I was rendered invisible in his presence because I wasn't as interesting as he was.). I enjoyed her company a lot more after she moved away.

She and I continued to stay in touch after I entered college. It was during this time that I began to worry about her. She had made some friends that I could clearly identify as potheads and bums. Unfortunately, she didn't see it that way and ended up being hurt by them. (One of the exceptions was Emily, who never treated her badly. I admit she was a much better friend to Shannon than I.) She began smoking and drinking. This behavior really amazed me because of her ill health and the fact her grandmother suffers from emphesema from years of heavy smoking. Some of the guys she was with were terrible, but I guess she thought being used by them was better than being without them.

I remember delicately bringing up the subject of God shortly after becoming a disciple. I asked her something about believing in God and if she thinks she's living the way He would want her to. She said, "Yeah, I believe in God. I'm a religious person. I even have a picture of Jesus between my Elvis and Stone Cold Steve Austin posters." I sighed and said that wasn't quite what I meant.

Sometime that year she announced she would be moving to Kent. She was going to apply to the university so she could study criminal justice this fall. I thought it would be a great opportunity to get her into our campus ministry activities there. She could meet some of my new friends.

The last time I saw Shannon was last fall. She took me out to the Boot Scoot'n Saloon. She said she wanted me to experience it, but I think it was also an excuse to wear the expensive new cowboy hat and boots her grandmother bought her. I, of course, felt very out of place. It has taken me many years to free myself from the notion of where black people should and should not frequent. However, my intellectual independence hadn't yet extended to country and western bars. We didn't shake our things on the dance floor as a result, but Shannon consoled herself by flirting with the guy at the next table. It was his twenty-first birthday and his friends had drug him out to celebrate, despite the fact he was on crutches. He danced very well for a guy with a broken foot.

Our conversations revolved around her. She told me a funny story that happened in her childhood. I think it involved getting her favorite Strawberry Shortcake sandal stuck in the mud. She talked about how she was going to become a police officer if she ever got a liver transplant. She told me about her big, strong new boyfriend who worked in a furniture store. We decided to go out to a comedy club sometime because it would be somewhere more suited to my taste. She seemed to be pretty happy. It's hard to believe the girl I spent the whole night talking to is gone. A piece of my childhood is gone. A piece of me is gone and I can never have it back.

Shannon died in a car accident. She swerved into another lane and hit an oncoming van. The only witness to the accident said she made no attempt to stop. She just rammed right into him. She was buried on May 19th. She was twenty-one years old.

I didn't find out about all this until two months later when Missy found my number among her grandmother's things. She figured I didn't know about Shannon's death because I didn't attend the funeral. I was surprised that Shannon's grandmother neglected to tell me (and to tell the truth, a little angry as well), but I soon forgave her. It was probably easy to forget about me in her grief-stricken state.

I was numb for many hours after receiving the news. I distracted myself by watching tv. I told my mother what happened. I e-mailed the news to Derek, Audrey, and Yvette. I haven't talked to Derek in two years but he was the only one I received a message back from. He seemed shocked. He said he'd call me. I knew he wouldn't.

I was looking for Shannon's cemetary in the phone book when I finally broke down. Tears streamed down my face and my chest heaved with big heavy sobs. The phone book got all wet. It didn't matter. The stupid cemetary wasn't listed there, anyway. I have yet to find it, but I need to visit her grave. I need to see that she's dead.

I tried to go to work the next day. I was late, like I am for everything. Cliff chastised me for my tardiness, stating that the boss wanted to crack down on such things. It wasn't a big deal, really, but it ruined my whole day.

I took many trips to the bathroom to hide my tears. Bathrooms are great places to be alone. You can sit there for hours thinking or crying and none will bother you; especially if you're quiet. I used to spend half the worship services in the bathroom when my anxiety disorder was really bad. I was too scared to come out.

However, no amount of trips to the bathroom could stop my flow of tears and I soon realized that I just needed to go home. I embarrassed myself by bursting into tears while asking Cliff if I could leave. Even after he granted me permission, I couldn't leave right away. I went into the large bathroom designed for the handicapped and slid helplessly to the floor. I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. After a while something inside me told me get off the floor, wipe away my tears, and go home.

So that's just what I did.