That viewing occurred September 19, 1982. Jean was killed on a Saturday, September 17, the next day after I asked her out in the girl's lavatory by her homeroom classroom. The last time I could set my eyes upon her and saw her lips, something snapped deep within me.   This was mch more than I could handle and created a look of agony.

Unlike even you, the reader, I had no recollections of the memories I had experienced with her, but felt the love building and emotional impact that each one produced in my mind, heart and soul. Also, that desire to be with her was as strong as ever, but those attempts at being with her were lost as well. All I knew, was I was never with her like I wanted to be, but had no idea why it never came about.

That night would be the first sleepless night, with so many more to come and that buzzing din; as if I stuck my hand in an electrical outlet, would stay with me for quite a while. In my mind, would now manifest the guilt of not being there with Jean, yet with no memories present, I would take it that the reason was my own cowardliness in not asking her out.

In the back of my mind, I would wonder if, somehow, I was the one that caused the events to unfold that led to her death. It made me feel, as if I was the drunk driver that ran her over. I made it to school the next day and went through the day strictly on instinct.

In addition of the near impossible struggle with Jean's death, I would be dealing with several other types of deaths in short order. Just two days after seeing Jean, the phone rang and I picked it up. "Hi, Mike!"

It was Lee (Elizabeth) and I answered my pen pal with, "Hi." I immediately started to sob.

"Mike, what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"No Mike, you can tell me, I'm your friend. Please tell me."

"Lee it's horrible, Jean's dead. She was killed by a drunk driver."

There was a long pause and in a confused and suspicious voice she asked, "Who's, Jean?" 

"She's the woman that I fell in love with and wanted to be with."

Now, there was a very long silence. I had the sensation of pointing a gun at my knee and pulling the trigger.

"Mike, I have to tell you something. My dad was listening to our last conversation and found the letters. He doesn't want us to write or talk anymore, if you write of call me, I will be in a lot of trouble. If things change, I'll let you know."

"Lee, I understand, and won't bother you."

"Thanks ... Bye, Mike." I then heard the air slowly exhale through her nose, just before she hung up. For once in my life, I had all of the love letters and contact information, organized and in a box.

I went to my room, grabbed the box, and took it outside; placing it on top of the trashcan that was set out of the curb for pick up. I made a special effort to put the letter with her kiss on top. I knew, I had just ruined a perfectly good potential relationship, which was especially painful as the one with Jean wasn't going to come to fruition. But, she didn't have to lie to me to end it.

I would have preferred to hear from Lee's lips, "Mike, I don't want you to call or write me anymore, because you turned out to be a stupid jerk who hurt me really bad." I knew the truth about how Lee's dad felt, because he talked to me just before school started.

I called Lee and asked for her as soon the phone picked up. Her dad answered and replied, "No, Lee's not here, but I want to talk to you for a minute."

"When I found out that you two were pen pals, I wasn't very happy, so I would try to listen in. When you talked, you gave her a lot of advice and I wondered if it wasn't for my benefit. I found all of her letters that you wrote her and read them."

"She hasn't done well with the divorce between me and her mother, but you really pointed her in a good direction. In fact, in reading them, you gave me plenty to think about. I'll tell you what Mike, I think this summer, I'll bring Lee to Baltimore so you two can spend some time together. "

"Gee, thanks Mr. A- I would really appreciate that." That was how the call concluded.


My grades immediately took a nose dive, with my bedroom nothing more than a receptacle for a body lying on a bed and the darkroom would be the place where I could relax enough to get my homework done to hand in, but it wasn't functioning for me, as the utilitarian place to work on my photography.

This year, one of my studies fell on an Art of Business and Industry course and usually that is when things over came me and I cried. Perhaps the new purpose for that darkroom was in being a quiet place to purge my feelings, so that I could make it through the rest of the day.

Jean's death had a tremendous impact on the rest of the school as well, people were sad and other's were angry. Since I didn't like the vibe in the hallways there before, they were a lot worse now. I was going through them with the purpose of getting more information, so that I could deliver to the drunk driver, exactly what he did to me.

What I heard shocked me, as the person who killed Jean also worked not only the same place as Jean's father, but it was believed that they were friends as well. Little details would come out in conversation, but none that I considered as reliable. But there were a lot of bad feelings towards Delores, the friend that was also struck with Jean, but had survived.

After school in Mr. Schwarz's class room was sitting Doris. Though I didn't remember, she was the photographic groupie that attached herself to me and periodically checked up on me the year before. This time, she was there to give information on her sister Delores, also struck with Jean and I found myself sitting in on the conversation as well.

It is strange now, to realize that despite not having the memory of the year before, there as a strange familiarity and the sense that she was a friend. From Doris, I found out what happened. Jean and Delores were fishing at the Gunpowder River, which crosses Harford Road. On their way back home, they ran out of gas and Delore's father went to get some, while the girls were in the back of the pickup.

He was on the way back, when the pickup was struck by another one that was red. I think I tried to get the drunk driver's name, but I don't remember whether she didn't know it, or had told me. I think that she did mention he worked at the same place that Jean's dad did.

I didn't want to forget Delores and asked how she was doing. Doris replied along the lines, "She's doing Ok, and getting better. She'll be back to school sometime next week, but things aren't right. I'm not sure if things are registering."

"Well, that is understandable, and Delores is in my prayers as well."

I got a simple thank you. In the coming days, many students were upset with Delores as they put, she was in La La Land and seemed happy about Jean's death. I decided to withhold judgment until I saw her.

The next day, I figured that she was back to school, when I horrifyingly heard more than one student yell at her, "... You're a bitch! Your friend Jean is dead, and you don't even care! We all wished that you were the one that was dead." I was ashamed to be a student at Parkville Senior High School after hearing that.

At the end of school, I was walking down the hall towards Mr. Schwarz's classroom, when I saw Delores in his classroom doorway. I was overcome with immediate rage and thought to myself, You fucking bitch!

But right then and there, looking at Delores, I heard Jean's voice as plain as day, as if she was at my side, "Awe, Mike. Please take care of Delores for me, she's my friend." To me, it was Jean's voice, and also a heartbreaker, as it was in such a sad state. With Jean's word, I gained the courage to walk up and talk with her.

Sure enough, she was happy as a lark, seeming happy that Jean had died. The difference between me and the other students was, I recognized what was going on, since I was experiencing the same thing, but in a different way. Her mind could only handle so much, and she was in shock.

I told her that I am glad she survived and found out her story. I was disappointed she couldn't tell me the name of the drunk driver, but she did say the drunk driver, worked with Jean's dad. As she was speaking, what Jean had told me was haunting me, so I concluded with:

"Look Delores, I know that you're in shock and you are Jean's friend. I am glad that you survived and if there is anything that you need, or if you need to talk to someone, please feel free to come to me." I regret that I dropped the ball, never checked up on her; but I didn't see her for the rest of the year, and was immersed with my own problems.

That feeling that I had put my hand into an electric socket continued for a month straight, then over the course of another month, slowly diminished, by a little each day. One help was a diversion I unwittingly found myself in; my senior term paper for English class.

With having a major problem with maintaining my grades, the last thing I wanted was an encumbering term paper thesis, so I picked an easy one that was lock, stock and barrel already concluded. I picked subliminal messages that were purported to be found in both music and image. Everyone knows that they exist and are persuading. I figured ten hours and done!

It only took about five hours for me to realize that there was a major problem with the thesis. Though there was research, there was no scientific method given. Things weren't adding up, very well. I had to develop my criteria for first determining their existence, and then ascertain their effect.

On a rare occasion, I ran into my neighbor and friend Tim and expressed the problems that I was encountering with my term paper and being a student at Towson State University, suggested that he take me to their incredible library.

With hundreds of articles, I traced most to just five main ones. Despite their claims of research, there was no published criterion and actual studies indicated that everything was inconclusive.

What was supposed to be ten hours, very quickly turned out to become 225 hours of theory, testing, and finally proving, or disproving the information that was available. The visual was easiest for me. There were claims that both suggestive words and profanity were being used in the print media, so I decided to use as a control, the half-tones that I had produced.

Sure enough, I found the same profanity in mine. I could assign myself a theme and after staring at the dots, find that theme imprinted in my half tones as well. Since, I hadn't altered the images as they claimed the advertising agencies had done, I realized, suggestive thinking had produced an effect similar to an optical illusion.

For the influence portion, I created two, high-contrast photographic prints. One completely unaltered and the other, with carefully spotted in messages which were present, but didn't consciously stand out. With my first survey, involving several hundred people, it looked like there indeed, was an effect, but I remained suspicious and decided to retry the experiment. With the second, the results were the exact opposite; people chose the one without the subliminal messages.

Then there was the sound portion and the claims had no information or suggestions, how to go about evaluating them. I figured that even if a message could be played backwards, then it must be heard backwards, as it is being played forwards. It worked! In Pink Floyd's album, "The Wall", there was rumored to be a subliminal on their song, "Empty Spaces."

I could actually hear it being played backwards with the normal direction of play. Not to break my phonograph's needle, I reversed the cartridge and it revealed the gem, "Congratulations! You have just discovered Pink Floyd's secret message. Send your answer to Old Pink, care of the Funny Farm in Chaulford." There was even a guy in the background yelling, "What's that, Chaulford! I'll remember that!"

My friend John, who found out about my project, lent a helping hand by pointing me to several more messages. Just as with mine, there were all funny stunts; with many being what I suspected was a response of being accused of subliminal messages.

All of the one's that were claimed to be, even the satanic ones, could easily be explained away. Even the one on Led Zeppelin's, "Stairway To Heaven." I figured out how to reverse cassette tape and was able to prove that it was actually the lyrics, "If there's a bustle in your hedgerow, don't be alarmed now. It's just the spring clean for the may queen."

I presented my term paper and finding in fine theatrical fashion, by dressing up as the Grim Reaper and yelling at the class, before I slipped the costume off and slipped into the term paper presentation. Unfortunately, I was downgraded, as I was supposed to prove my thesis, not disprove it. That would have been a lot easier and it hurt me because all that I had to do was lie.

Parkville Senior's halls also became more unfriendly to me. Someone was pushing me into the lockers and punching me in the kidney or the back of my head. I didn't really have the will to fight back.

The one person I saw laughing was the same football player who was always agitating Mr. Yates and the janitor in 9th grade. I kept an eye out for him and decided that if it is him, I would find out where he hangs and put a bullet in his head and gut. With what I was experiencing, I had no plans on putting up with the bullying.

This sort of mistreatment as a student, also extended into school life as well, I was in homeroom when another girl from yearbook handed us seniors, the sheet to record the details which we wanted included as a senior profile. I filled mine out and was about to hand it to her, but as soon as she saw me, yelled out, "Oh, by the way. If you were too stupid not to get your picture taken, don't bother handing in your slip. You're not in it!"

In front of her, I ripped up the paper and walked over to the trash can and threw it away.

One problem was that I couldn't find anyone that was willing to talk to me about things. My mother would listen, but ended up getting upset, as it reminded her of the friends she had lost. If I tried to talk with my father, he'd explode, "You don't have problems! You only think you do! The only problem that you should have is trying to figure out how to get a good job or if you're continuing your schooling before I kick you out this summer."

For the time being, all I wanted to know was; with what I am experiencing; is it normal? I attempted to talk with the older women of the neighborhood about the grief over the loss of their husband and compare it to my experience. It was obvious to me that I was not only upsetting them, as I reminded them of the loss, but making them very uncomfortable, and hesitant to talk to me.

The usual reply from them was, "Well, why don't you come back later about that. Perhaps you'll figure things out before that time." I couldn't get a handle on the response until one of the elderly ladies, put it to me bluntly, "I don't know how, what I experienced would apply to your situation. I don't want to tell you things that make your feelings worse." So I decided on giving up talking about it.

I wondered if somehow, Jean's friends would help or at least provide a bit of understanding for me, but I was afraid that I would be trespassing as I knew they were grieving as well. I tried the guidance counselor and he sort of stopped me before I started, "I know it's hard for you right now, but things will get better with time." That was it.


I moved out of the state of shock over Jean's death, into a deeper one of depression. That happened with the Thanksgiving holiday and worsened through to the Christmas vacation. I decided to try to reach out to the two students who I cared for and wanted to befriend.

There were many reasons for this, such as: To try to get a handle on my elusive school life and at least to start to attend a few other school functions. Since both, had many friends, I was hoping that by telling my story, perhaps other students would be a bit kinder and may think of a way to help out. Last, I did care for them and wanted some way that I could have been in their lives to show that I care, and if something happened to them, I wouldn't feel like a coward like I did with Jean.

I tried to talk with both the yearbook girl that I sat behind in 10th grade, and the one that was in my 6th grade class, which I wrote from New Mexico. They again misunderstood my intentions and the year book girl would try to hide, while the other would see me, and stick her tongue down her boyfriend's throat. I got the message, but by that time, I was only looking for student friendship. I was amused when this happened as her boyfriend didn't know what hit him.

Now being close to Christmas Vacation, I didn't want to go into the New Year cold, so I decided to make use of a small Christmas party that the Art Department was holding after school. I invited both girls to it. While I thought it was the craziest thing to do from a dating perspective, I was hoping that both girls will see the sincerity in my words with my actions, and decide to lend me that helping hand I needed, as a fellow student.

While they both promised to stop by, I pretty much figured the yearbook girl wasn't coming, as her duck and hide routine, now produced a patina of fear about it. I figured the other girl was going to stop by as she seemed to have made an enthusiastic promise.

Even though the Christmas season was upon us and I attended the party, I was still trying to squeeze in another print into my portfolio and traveling between the party and the darkroom rather constantly.

I was in his classroom when Mr. Schwarz walked in, "Hey Mr. Mike, we have to talk. You invited another student to the party and she stopped by to talk to me. Mike, she is dating someone else and doesn't want to have anything to do with you."

I was horrified with misunderstanding and totally broke down, "Mr. Schwarz, that wasn't my intention. I told them that I am having problems dealing with Jean's death and needed them as a friend to sort of guide me a little ..."

"Now Mike, I know you have problems with her death, but it isn't a good way to try to date somebody. Probably a new person is best for you, but you need to get a handle on things so that they will want to be with you."

"But ... I was talking about being a friend and a fellow student."

"Mike ... The woman ... They have their own ways that you have to figure out. I remember the first time that I made love and I was scared, yet it was a thrilling experience that was wonderful."

I heard all about it and took the advice he offered, not at face value, but in realizing this situation was foisted on him to deal with, because of a total lack of decency from another. I felt that what my experience was so out of the normal realm, no one could either understand it, lend a hand at helping my struggle at figuring things out, or even having the slightest feeling of the responsibilities of a fellow student.

What the girls did, was convince me that there wasn't any student willing to be a friend which totally destroyed my confidence in both myself, the students and Parkville Senior High School. The tone of both the conversation with Mr. Schwarz and the girls actions, really plunged the knife in me, because Jean's death left me impotent. Hell, the disgrace was that I couldn't have a normal dating relationship anyway, at least for the time being.

Christmas holiday was spent between me laying in bed and being lectured by my father about the holiday spirit. I silently took a lot of guff, because I now viewed the world as filled with ignorant people, who refused to look at the world outside of the portal of their realm of experience.

I seriously considered quitting High School, but decided against that for the following reasons, 1) I still felt Jean's presence as I knew she would be very hurt and upset if I quit school. 2) I knew that leaving school wouldn't end the pain, I now felt I was meant to handle. 3) I had it tough enough with staying at school and not having my father's support, and he made it clear that if I ever were to quit school, he would then force me to leave the house and disown me.

Going back to school after my vacation was one of the hardest things and tested my courage. This depression would start letting up in January; as from time to time, I was shocked to find myself laughing occasionally. Not the usually thought of, You're supposed to laugh at that. I guess that you could say that there was light at the end of the tunnel, but boy was it a long one. Or was it the train coming, with the engineer asleep.