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“Who do you need us to beat up?” one teen asked another. It was a type of field day at the high school, and there was a small group of youth gathered around a friend in tears. “Yeah, we’ll take care of it,” another one agreed. The tears continued, silently, while the grieving girl held onto her friend’s sleeve. I had been looking for one of the students in the group, who had not returned to her assigned spot after lunch, and found them in their current state. They had filled me in on the offense which had precipitated the emotional responses of everyone involved.

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I will always remember how cold it was that day; the bitter cold which cuts like a knife, unusually cold for December in Middle Tennessee. Most of the details of that day are etched into my memory like an epitaph carved in stone.

The sky was clear; the stars were bright before sunrise that morning. As I drove to work, I saw a shooting star blaze across the sky, disappearing as it shed its last light. (It’s funny the things we remember so clearly while other memories escape our grasp.)

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