I got the joy, joy, joy that's down in my heart, Where? Down in my heart!! (2008)

I remember when they killed her. I saw it on the news. Her body lay on the grass where she would have her lunch, with a boy who they said was a friend, but I suspect a teenage crush. Someone would wait for her everyday. Someone would dream of seeing her the next day. Her body lay, on the grass where she had her lunch, as her classmates ran past for fear of their lives.

I didn't know her. I just saw her picture later and thought she was cute.  People placed flowers on her car in the parking lot. It collected a lot of dust.

I mourned her death in my secret way.  I collected newspaper clippings and magazine articles, kept it stashed away for years. I went on AOL and tried to get close to those who had known her. I dreamed of visiting her grave in another state but I couldn't figure out why. She became an object for my affection; I didn't know any of her flaws.

I thought of being religious like her, but I was angry, and I suspect hate filled up in me. I hated everyone around me, with their petty bullshit. I fooled around with pipe bombs and CO2 canisters; I tried to live the disgruntled life of those who had killed her. I was playing a role I had heard about on the news...but no one seemed to want to bully me.

Over ten years passed; my teenage angst became so hollow. I rarely thought about her, but still kept the newspaper clippings stashed away. I didn't like to talk about it, as it felt like some weird fetish. It was like your family finding your porn collection or speed.

One drunken night in a sweet dream - I hadn't thought about her for years, and I guess this is why I'm writing this - I saw her walking to school from the parking lot with her friends. A guy had his arm around her and she was nonchalant and almost reluctant. She walked ahead, then turned back and put her head on his shoulder like a whiny teenage bitch, and it was so lovely. And that was all there was to it.

I don't know what to say about her. I almost loved her in my morbid but innocent way. It was easy - she was dead. And in my dreams, such adolescent times. Maybe she even smoked cigarettes on the sly with her friends.