Okay, I emailed Melody and here is what she had to say:
Melody:
Too funny. I couldn't even remember what happened, that was like a hundred books ago for me. But I found two old docs that were used for the website. Miranda/Kyra a year later. I don't know where Tyrone's is. I'll paste what I have below. Hopefully it will answer some of her questions. There was a "newspaper article" too, but I can't find it. mc
Website material
Miranda’s Story – One Year Later
One year ago, my best friend died—partly because of me. Oh, I didn’t exactly know he was my best friend at the time. I thought his sister was my best friend. But now I realize it was Sammy all along. Do I miss him less now that a year has passed? I’d like to make myself believe that I’ve moved on with my life, and in many ways I have, but I sometimes I miss him more than ever. He is always on my mind. And I will always wonder if he and I were meant to be, but now we’ll never get the chance to find out. It’s a heavy burden to bear. Thankfully, I have Someone to bear it with me.
I didn’t get locked up after the trial. But I did have to testify—against myself and others. I could’ve been charged with manslaughter and sentenced to up to five years for hosting the under-aged drinking party where Sammy was given drugs, but because of my willingness to uncover the truth behind Sammy’s death, the court was lenient with me. I wish I could say that for the rest of the community. I’m sure I made many enemies during the three weeks of courtroom drama. But I told the truth—about my involvement and the involvement of others. It was the least I could do for Sammy.
I was, however, sentenced to thirty days of community service. A small price, really. Although it did keep me in this one-horse town for longer than I’d previously intended. All I could think of, after the public humiliation of the trial, was to get out of Macon, to hit the road and just keep on going. But God had other plans. Andi worked it out so I could serve my community by volunteering at Children’s Services where she works part time. So I spent a month and a half helping to supervise abused children in play therapy. I made a lot of sweet little friends, and was actually sad when my debt to society was paid and I told them goodbye.
But this little stint gave me an idea. I realized that I really enjoy listening to and helping people—especially kids. And so I decided to go for a counseling degree in college, with a possible second major in journalism. But since I failed to pre register for a four-year college, I am currently attending a local community college in the next town. No big deal, really, when you consider I could’ve been serving time right now. To save money, I commute to school in Nana’s old blue Buick. Shelby’s idea.
Shelby decided not to sell the apartments for another year. She’s hoping the real estate market will pick up by then. So I’m still living in Nana’s apartment, with Shelby and Andi and Mr. Campton for neighbors. It’s a family of sorts. I go to visit Nana on the weekends, but mostly she doesn’t know me. Last week she thought I was her Great Aunt Sophie and asked if I’d brought her a jar of peach preserves. Still it’s comforting to see her, to hold her hand, and to assure her that we’ll have a real chat in heaven someday. Because I do believe in heaven now. I believe that’s where Sammy is, and that he’s forgiven me and looking forward to the day we can get reacquainted again. What a day that will be!
I suppose the hardest part of my life, besides missing Sammy, is forgiving myself and stepping away from the debilitating guilt. I’ve discovered that forgiveness isn’t the kind of thing you can do just once and then simply forget. I think that’s why Jesus said we have to “forgive seven times seven.” Andi said that represents an infinite number and how many times we must forgive ourselves and others—like forever. I think she must be right. I must be on about 2,649 by now. But I keep trying.
I think Kyra has forgiven me. At least that’s what Dylan said during Christmas break. I see him occasionally and it sounds like he and Kyra are tighter than ever. I’ve given up any hope of being friends with her again, but it’s some comfort to know that she doesn’t hate me. I did make an attempt to speak with her parents before the trial, to confess my guilt and beg their forgiveness. They told me that they forgave me, but I couldn’t be sure by the look in their eyes. Or maybe it was just sadness. Who can judge such things? And who would blame them after all they’ve been through?
I still struggle with depression sometimes, but not to the extent that I did before. I never want to go back to that dark, awful place. The most important thing that I’ve learned through all this is that I can’t do this thing alone. I need good friends around me, but even more than that, I need God. I cannot live without God’s love, mercy and forgiveness—on a daily basis. And that’s what gives me hope. I don’t think we can live without hope. Not for long anyway.
Web Site
Kyra’s Story — A Year after Sammy Died
The trial was over in three weeks, but in a lot of ways, it’s still going on. Half of Macon took turns sitting in that witness chair.
My whole testimony is pretty much a blur. I remember the defense attorney asking me if I ever took drugs. My lawyer--Dad hired me a personal lawyer--had walked me through safe answers that would make me sound less guilty. I’d rehearsed lines as if preparing for a play: “I have never taken Ecstasy at parties. I never bought anything from Mitchell Wade.”
But instead of giving the memorized answer, I glanced at Dylan in the third row. And this peace came over me, and I knew I had to tell the truth. “I took drugs,” I answered. “I told Sammy he’d be more fun if he took them, too. Because he didn’t. Not until--”
Both lawyers jumped up and objected. The judge called a sidebar. And I kept looking at Dylan, thinking about guilt, the degrees of it. And forgiveness, total forgiveness, and how much it all cost.
I started NYU in the fall, like most students. Dad was right. Kids who made the summer program had an advantage. They got the leads in the first production. I didn’t try out. But I’m helping with scenery in one of my classes. And I might try out for Taming of the Shrew next semester. Sammy used to joke about type-casting me in that lead role. Sammy joked about a lot of things.
I don’t talk about Sammy here, except to my roommate. But Sammy’s everywhere--in the bounce of a basketball, in the gleam of bicycle spokes on a spring morning.
I’ve been here ? months and have already gained the “freshman five” (not, however, the “freshman 15" pounds my roommate gained). Dylan says God picked Char for my roommate, and I agree—with Dylan and God. Char’s from Dallas, and we needed a translator for a couple of weeks. But the first thing she unpacked was her Bible, and she talks about Jesus like he’s her best friend.
I’m getting there. We found this great church we can walk to from campus.
Drugs are everywhere. Sometimes I think about it, wish I could forget everything for even an hour, with help. Everybody needs help sometimes, Mitch used to say.
But I won’t go there. We steer clear of parties if we think there’ll be drugs.
I go home on breaks. But to be honest--and I really am trying to be honest--I don’t always look forward to it. In Macon, I’m the dead kid’s sister. Sammy’s surviving twin. Sammy used to complain that he’d never be anything more to Macon, Iowa, than Kyra James’ twin. Maybe now I understand what he meant.
Dylan tries to come home from State when I’m on break, so that’s always great. But I never know what I’ll find at home. If Dad picks me up by himself, then I know it will be a tough time at home with Mom. We’ve worked through a lot of junk in the past year, but it’s hard for my parents to see me without Sammy--like I’m a mirror-image reminder they’re not quite ready for yet.
Christmas was the hardest--on all of us. Mom let Dad and me get a real tree for the first time ever. Maybe that’s progress--with the threat of all those pine needles hanging over her white carpet. We picked a white pine that was so big we had to chop it in half to get it into the house. But we decorated it together, something we hadn’t done for 10 years. And sometimes it felt okay, nice even.
I don’t know if Mom still takes Zanax or if she has any in the house. Even now, there are some things we just don’t talk about.
My twin is nearly two years younger than I am. I wish I could turn back time, do everything over again, tell Sammy I’m sorry. But I think he’d be proud of me, sort of. Sammy believed God sees everything. I believe it too now. Sammy was right about that. He was right about a lot of things.
I miss my brother. I miss him so much, like love keeps growing even though Sammy doesn’t. I understand that God has forgiven me. And things are better, a lot better. But sometimes I still feel guilty. I remember what I screamed at Sammy the last time I saw him, remember it word for word.
Then I make myself stop and listen to what God says about me: I’m forgiven. I have a fresh start. God loves me no matter what.
And it helps. It does. And I know I’ll be okay.
posted 2 years ago. ( reply )
