Ah time the great healer.
No matter how many years pass, my memories of Carol Barker never diminish.
She - The lively strawberry blonde with such electic artistic flair - and I - the angst-ridden brunette with a withes mop of hair brooding over couplets. We bonded over our shabby treatment by a fellow artiste. Nothing like a good rant to clear the air. At the end of the day we found ourselves like minded. The artiste was never admitted to our inner sanctum.
Ours was a relationship of joy.
We had such fun. All too soon came the night when:
The phone rang.
A promise was called in.
Carol walked home.
Death on Oak and 46th.
The stop light now blinking there remains as testimony to our need to make sense of her death. t flashes to commemorater our canvassing of the neighbourhood and petitioning City Hall.
Carol, no longer Carol, became a stat.
I made peace with her in the graveyard at 41st and Fraser years after her burial.
November 30th is the day she died.
November 29th is the day I reneged on my promise.
If nothing more, this day serves to remind me to be careful not to make promises.
I wear a telephone charm on a bracelet some times.