14 Years Later...
Happy Birthday, Amy.
You would have been 35 today. I still remember the phone call. I remember watching over you like a Sheep Dog the night leading in to your 21st year. I remember walking you home and pouring you into your parent's house, then later seeing a Banshee on the streets of historic Huntsville as I walked back to my truck at 2 AM. I remember thinking she was just some random crazy woman... even though I'd never encountered such before. Even though there were fewer homeless people in those days.
I remember sleeping... barely.
I remember trying to reach you all day Saturday. Worrying.
I remember quitting the Burning Nun because HE had betrayed you and I could neither respect nor help someone like him.
I remember your finally calling on Sunday and the hours we spent driving around and thinking "She's OK. She's going to be OK."
I remember the missed call from the blocked number later that night. I remember the call coming the next morning from the same blocked number, roughly the same time as yours the day before. The police investigator.
The desperate call to him, hoping that he wouldn't answer and that's why they wanted to talk to me.
I remember HIM telling me you were dead. The world spinning so incredibly fast. Falling to my knees.
I remember knowing that I had failed you for the very last time. That the sheepdog had taken his eyes off the sheep and the wolves got in.
I remember the next two years knowing that I didn't look after you well enough...eventually realizing I could teach you how to defend yourself from a man twice your size, but not from the wolves that stalked and prowled and snarled inside you.
I remember Luke, and Rebecca, and Kat who watched over me, the way I'd failed to do over you. I am forever grateful to them.
I remember you as my best friend... and you are still a better friend than most of my living friends are.
You would have been 35 today. I still remember the phone call. I remember watching over you like a Sheep Dog the night leading in to your 21st year. I remember walking you home and pouring you into your parent's house, then later seeing a Banshee on the streets of historic Huntsville as I walked back to my truck at 2 AM. I remember thinking she was just some random crazy woman... even though I'd never encountered such before. Even though there were fewer homeless people in those days.
I remember sleeping... barely.
I remember trying to reach you all day Saturday. Worrying.
I remember quitting the Burning Nun because HE had betrayed you and I could neither respect nor help someone like him.
I remember your finally calling on Sunday and the hours we spent driving around and thinking "She's OK. She's going to be OK."
I remember the missed call from the blocked number later that night. I remember the call coming the next morning from the same blocked number, roughly the same time as yours the day before. The police investigator.
The desperate call to him, hoping that he wouldn't answer and that's why they wanted to talk to me.
I remember HIM telling me you were dead. The world spinning so incredibly fast. Falling to my knees.
I remember knowing that I had failed you for the very last time. That the sheepdog had taken his eyes off the sheep and the wolves got in.
I remember the next two years knowing that I didn't look after you well enough...eventually realizing I could teach you how to defend yourself from a man twice your size, but not from the wolves that stalked and prowled and snarled inside you.
I remember Luke, and Rebecca, and Kat who watched over me, the way I'd failed to do over you. I am forever grateful to them.
I remember you as my best friend... and you are still a better friend than most of my living friends are.