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When I first heard the news about Cheryl's murder, a vague memory grew of her, but I couldn't put my finger on it. It finally became evident when a thought from the back of my head came fast forward. She had a brother who I knew.

Pow! A thousand memories came back in an instant. I did know her!

The first time I had met her was when K, Jim and I bounded down the stairs from his bedroom to head for the “One Way” in Slater park. The bottom of the stairs ended in the kitchen and by the refrigerator a girl turns around. She was tilting a 2 liter bottle of Mountain Dew to her mouth and I was quite taken. She was one of those girls who was born lovely and appealing.

Up to then, I never knew K had a sister.

However, she shot me a look like she just saw Big Foot and I knew why. I said, “Yeah, I know...I need a haircut.” My hair was awfully long and Kennedy-esque tousled (I'm being kind to myself here. Many times, I let the wind comb my hair!). She laughed and suggested that I use a weed whacker to fix it. I laughed and probably thought it wouldn't be a bad ideas, how could I look worse? Ah, I enjoyed my mussed up hair anyways, even though I'd get unsympathetic judgment.

So, off goes K, Jim and I to walk to Slater Park via Grand ave. I being 18 and having little social prudence and subtlety, blurt out:

“Wow K! Your sister is HOT!”

“What? Says an offended K.
 

“Your sister, she's wicked pretty!”

“Um...OK...I guess so” K grumbles back to me.

I'd see her often enough when we'd all hang at that house by Bobby's Rollaway in that summer of '82. She ran in a different social circle than the pre-criminal element I was associated with at Slater Park. She was too good for us but our paths crossed more than enough times. Pawtucket is small enough for that.

Well, life is like bus station. People come and go in your life. Our connection died on the vine and she, her brother and our gang drifted apart as time passed.

That until the other day when I saw the news about her. It then all came back.

You know the immediate second thought I had when I had heard about it? I saw her again at that fridge downing the soda and the hypothesis was this: “At 17, she never had a clue her end would come from a 9mm being fired four times into her chest by a wannabe and incompetent Bonnie & Clyde. None at all.”

The point I'm making is that none of us have the slightest idea what our future holds, or how we'll go...or how spectacular our end might be...or not. I never knew I'd be where I am today at 18. Then, I'd probably laugh in your face if I was told I'd be in healthcare, laying bets on a stock trading platform and one that day, that I'd be peering into the caldera of Mt St Helen's volcano. “Ahhh..you're full of it!” I'd say. But then guess what happened.

Her violent death astonished me really because my memory of her was of a pretty, young and healthy girl...who would continue to be that kind of person...forever. How the hell do you end up getting popped for no reason at all? She wasn't the intended target either. It was a pure “being in the wrong place at the wrong time” chance. And that's how stupid life can be. How often do you answer the door and get shot?

I guess this stuff happens all the time all across the world, but when it hits home...

I will probably keep that memory of her chugging Mountain Dew that afternoon. It's the one I've always had. It's funny how certain recollections just burn themselves into your brain. It's a far more kinder and respectful memory vs. seeing that shattered door glass and knowing what was inside.