BY REBECCA HEYWARD
Let me tell you a story from my childhood.
When I was in high school, 9th or 10th grade, I don’t really remember, a girl named Elsa was murdered in a fight with another girl over a boy. She was sixteen. I never knew her, but I remember hearing the announcement of her death over the loudspeaker in Spanish class, and sitting in silence and remembrance over a life that was so bright and yet so quickly put out. I remember wondering how girls could kill one another, and over something so trivial. I didn’t understand. I still don’t.
When I was a freshman in college, a person very close to me was murdered. His name was Justin, he was 18. Stabbed in the back by an ex-girlfriend when he went to tell her he was moving and would most likely never see him again. I remember his smile, his laugh, the way he always managed to cheer me up or know when I was struggling with something. We had been friends since middle school and he would go to drama club meetings with his girlfriend, a girl who I knew from elementary school although she was a year younger. I don’t know what drove her to murder someone, and I never will.
The Opinion Pages is the place where our readers can express their thoughts, concerns, ideas, and comments.
The views and opinions expressed in the Opinion Pages do not necessarily represent the views of the Marketplace for Social Awareness and Social Responsibility Inc.