That Friday I left school knowing I had done all that I could do and hopefully, at least one way or the other, Jean would have a response. Things really didn't enter my mind further after that.

Saturday however, provided me with a panic attack between 1:00-1:30 pm. I was overwhelmed with the sensation that something was very wrong and Jean wanted me to contact her. I have had other nervous moments, but nothing hit me so harshly as this one.

I made the decision I would put on some nice clothes, get some flowers and walk over to Jean's house. But was that the right thing to do? My greatest fear, was I pushed things for my own selfish interests and as a result, turned a lot of feelings and hard work to crap.

It took about a half hour for the feeling to subside and for me to become calmer. I was more than grateful to have this panic attack under control and told myself, No. Like it or not, I firmly put the ball into Jean's court and it is up to her to return it.

I went to school Monday and had the feeling that Jean had intended to pull a surprise visit, and was surprised that she didn't. I didn't think about things too much as I had two darkrooms to prepare. With my photo crew helpers, we made short work of things and were out in the classroom before the announcements ended.

Partway through the announcements, Mr. Pfeiffer came on and asked all of the students to stand for a moment of silence, as one of Parkville Senior's students had passed on. You didn't have to ask me twice and though the silence, I thought of an impromptu prayer, Dear God, I pray for the person who passed away and ask that you take them into your care. Also, that you be there for the people whose lives they had touched and will miss them.

It reminded me of a senior who passed away when I was in 9th grade there. He was on a motorcycle and left a party with his girlfriend on the back, and lost control and hit a guard rail. It was a bit of a romantic tragedy as when the left the party, they had a minor fight, because he made sure that she was wearing his helmet. It was also common thought, it was his body that cushioned her in the impact, giving her a life saving landing.

I didn't know who had passed, but figured that I would know in due time. I figured if it was anyone that I knew, someone would think to inform me. The next part of the day was pretty much normal.

For both 11th and 12 grade, I had eaten my lunches in Mr. Schwarz's classroom. This year we had the same lunch period so the classroom was empty. Mr. Schwarz normally ate his lunch in the teacher's dining room and popped in after his gate duty before class. With Jean knowing my house, I now wondered if she was aware of my schedule and would pop in then.

Near the end of the lunch period, Mr. Schwarz popped in, grabbed a tray of material off of his desk, and had just sat it on the counter that covered the radiator by the window. Miss Margolas walked in and said, "Hey Charlie, who died?"

"Jean Murphy."

I immediately stood up and thought to myself, You fucking asshole, you found out that I asked Jean out and this is your idea of a joke. You can bet your ass there was going to be a confrontation over this, but with my first step in that direction.

"Whose homeroom was she in."

"Mr. Owen's."

"What happened?"

"I heard she was out fishing with her friend and her friend's father. They were on their way back when they ran out of gas. The truck they were in was struck from behind by a drunk driver."

The reality hit me and I could feel my breath and life run out of me. I immediately ran into the darkroom and sat on the desks which acted as a table. I asked the question of, Why? followed by a repeated recanting of, No.

When the bell rang for the next class, I made a B line straight to Mr. Owens classroom. I stuck my head in his door and found him sitting at his desk. "Mr. Owens, who died? Was it Jean Murphy?"

He studied me for a few seconds, than nodded his head, Yes. It now felt like I had just stuck my finger in an electric outlet and the rest of to the day was filled with that type of buzz going through my body and all I could think was, No.

Later in the day, I was in Miss Rankin's class and very little was coming though the feeling of my buzzing din, and thinking, No. Not being good for anything but shaking my head, I vaguely recall Miss Ranking, "Mike, Mike." I looked at her and she continued, "Mike, do you want to join the class and answer the question?"

I screamed at the top of my lungs, "No!" and slammed my fist on the table. I stared Miss Rankin down; she was absolutely startled and studied me. She simply continued on with her class and left me in the world of my headshaking-buzzing din. At the end of the day, I immediately informed my photo crew that I have a problem to deal with, have to leave, and that they are on their own.

That day, I ran home and when my mom opened the door, I almost knocked her down, "Mom, I need the newspaper. Where's the fucking newspaper, it's important!"

"Mike, what do you need from the newspaper?"

"The obits, Jean's dead."

"Oh God! Mike it's in the trash."

I dug it out and got the information. Since I couldn't eat, mom made me drink. I just sat in my room and maintained that same state of shock, now looking at the clock to make the viewing. As I got dressed, I cursed myself for not having a suit telling myself:

"God damn it, you're pathetic. Here it is that Jean deserves a suit and all you got are disco hand me downs. Shit, it fucked you up with the yearbook photograph and now you're going to show everybody just what a fuck up you really are."

I walked up Harford Road to Evens Funeral Chapel, and as I crested the hill at Putty Hill Avenue, I could see her brother outside smoking cigarettes and gabbing with his friends. I wanted to beat the hell out of him, but made my way past him to see Jean off.

Inside, they had two rooms open, it was very hot and completely crowded with people, which produced a loud, low pitched rumble. I immediately stood in line to view the casket and felt so suffocated that I had to tell myself when to breath.

I finally made my way to view her and was horrified with the first glance, What in the hell did her parents do to her? Her beautiful blond hair which should be wavy and flowing ,was now strawberry blond.

I didn't like her hair being up one damn bit either and thought, Christ Mike! Jean's an angel, not some fucking Greek goddess. I then realized that they must have had to do it that way because of the damage that she suffered in the accident.

The next thought blew my mind, We there she is ...Look at her lips, that you wanted. You're finally able to get that kiss in. Aren't you, you fucking coward?

At that thought, I knew I made the face of agony, but I was interrupted with a loud voice calling through the low rumble, "Awe, he's crying." I figured that it was Jean's sister, but now the low rumble was silent. I simply got up, signed the register and left.

"Mike, I know that you loved her and that the funeral is tomorrow. I'll write a note for you so that you can attend it." As soon as I made it home, that was what my mother asked.

"No mom. If I go, I won't make it through it." The next day, I went to school and though barely functioning, got through it. Not attending the funeral only added to my cowardly feelings, but I wouldn't have made it through anyway.

Though it would take a life of forty-five years, this was the day; I was delivered with the perfect, "Unrequited love." That event made any unanswered greeting, thought or emotion, from any beating heart, just a cruel poke from a spiritually deficient person, who wouldn't understand the pleasure of simple and honest responses or their impact.

Daniel Boonf was once asked, "Have you ever found yourself lost?"

To which he replied with humor, "No I never have, but I have been bewildered for a few days."

Well, I was now lost and found myself without a compass in a land where the topography was ever changing.

Not only had my adventure changed, it bumped itself up a notch or two. I now had to figure out how to dead recon with only the slightest amount of faith in sight and circumnavigate with only a sense of where I should end up.