Good Friday 1984

I was a grad student in Ohio in 1984 - madly in love with a young man from the region, and sharing a big bungalowish style house him and4 or 5 other people. We worked late on the previous night, Thursday. Not unusual. I was up all night every other night for most of the early eighties since I was a full-time student and usually working two or three jobs in addition to my classes and studio work.

Early that morning someone knocked on our bedroom door. We ignored it thinking it was one of our roomates. They knocked again, saying tearfully, its me, P. (my boyfriend's younger brother). I can't remember if he came inside or not. The futon took up most of the floorspace in that bedroom and we probably weren't wearing PJ's. All I remember is BF's brother telling us of their cousin's death the night before.

Tracey was a lovely 19 or 20 year old, the favored cousin of all the brothers in BF's family. She had been hit by two trains in a freak accident. They think she saw the slow moving train but not the fast moving train. She crossed the tracks and the fast train knocked her car down the tracks and then the slow moving train knocked it the other direction. I can't imagine the pain her mother must have felt in identifying her. She was a very beautiful girl... inside and out. Total goodness... gone.

The BF is long gone from my life but I think of his cousin Tracey every Good Friday and wonder how her family is doing. They were one of those unique families that enjoyed each other's company. Her parents and practically grown siblings would get together and play cards or board games around the kitchen table and laugh all night. They didn't drink anything stronger than diet coke. It was an alien experience for me at the time... but I admired them tremendously.

My family members endured each other's company growing up. Contempt for each other is sort of built into our genes. Its unfortunate, really. I love them all and I know they love me but we don't share much in common. C'est la vie.