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I Have Become The Woman I Said I Would NEVER Be!!

30 Mar

I promised myself I would never be “that” woman.

And today I am her.

Yesterday was a bad day. I was in a car accident, thankfully nobody was hurt. I guess my nerves got the best of me. I should have been paying attention to the road but instead I was thinking about the “other” women. The woman I found out about a month ago came to mind, followed by woman #2 and woman #3 who I discovered in the past three days.
When I returned home I was already distraught. My boyfriend was packing for a mini trip he told me about the night before, but little did he know what I knew.

“Do you want me to take you to the airport,” I asked?
“No, meeting my mother for lunch,” he replied.
“Want me to get you my carryon bag,” I said as he was picking out clothes from the closet?
“Yes, that would be great,” he responded.
I went to the laundry room, grabbed my carryon bag and handed it to him.
“Thanks sweetie,” he said as he was folding his clothes about to put it in the suitcase.

I started to walk away when I stopped. It disgusted me that he was wearing the button down shirt I hated the most. The shirt I had ironed the day he cheated on me with woman #1. I sighed in exhaustion, turned around and said:
“Oh baby, when you get to Washington D.C. tell Susan that’s my suitcase.”

I walked out the door with the shocked look on his face still in mind.

Then four hours later my nerves got the best of me yet again. This time I was walking and paid no attention to the car coming at towards me. Sorry but I couldn’t help but think he was with “her” at that moment. That’s when I was hit by the car, but thankfully not seriously injured.

You see, I’m not ENTIRELY stupid.
Friends and family told me to leave him after the first woman, but I didn’t. Instead I gave him a second chance. It was hard and more problems evolved. Then when I found out about women 2 and 3 I started to plan my escape.
It wasn’t until yesterday morning when I woke up, wide awake when I had a brilliant idea.

My boyfriend was still asleep when I grabbed his phone from the night table. Despite everything, I NEVER went through his phone. Shortly after I became lightheaded and dizzy.
I shouldn’t of been shocked but I was. There were even MORE women, not including the woman he had been talking to from the internet and was flying to meet yesterday for the first time. I couldn’t help but ask myself:

“How many more women are there?”

I am hurt, shaking, confused, disgusted and angry. BUT I still have my pride and dignity. That’s two things he didn’t take away from me.

Now going forward, when “that” woman enters my life, the woman I ridiculed for staying with the cheater, the woman I gave a dumbfounded look at when she said she wasn’t leaving the cheater, I will now smile, take her hand into mine and love her. That’s when I will tell my story and make a new friend.


7 Jul

We are silent,

You are hurting, I am hurting,

Saying goodbye is approaching,

At each stop light you cradle my hand,

You are breathing heavily,

So am I,

I can hear your heart pounding,

So is mine,

I hear you swallow hard,

I do too,

I can feel your hurt,

I’m sure you can feel mine,

I’m fighting the tears,

We are at our destination,

It came so quickly,

If only I could have another five minutes of you holding my hand,

You park the car and walk me to mine,

You lean in for a loving hug,

But it’s so hard, just go I thought,

I get in my car and sigh,

One tear drops, then another.

Goodbye my love,

I’m sad,

I’m hurting,

I miss you,

I love you

I’m embarassed to tell this story

18 Jun

I got an email from a man this morning I hadn’t seen or spoken to in three years. It made me think of this story.

I was sitting at the breakfast table one Saturday morning with my ex-fiance (the doctor) as we waited for the live-in housekeeper (who I later found out he was fucking) to prepare us breakfast. Instead of giggling as I usually did, I sat in silence. I had caught him cheating the day before, and at this time I knew of only one woman, not the other six.

I was sad, hurt and speechless. My mind was wandering and he knew I was upset. He was looking at the paper and I stared out at the beautiful lake that didn’t seem so beautiful this morning.

I was premediating how to cut off his dick when he put his newspaper down and said:

“How about we buy you a new car today? What kind of car would you want,” he asked?

A car that would drown your bank account, I thought.

He knew I liked Mercedes but he was pushing towards the car he drives which is a BMW. I still wasn’t thrilled or excited but went along for the ride anyways.

When we arrived at the BMW dealership it was a disaster. Every car he liked I hated. Perhaps I wasn’t in a very good mood and certainly didn’t feel like car shopping. The car salesman was doing everything to please me but I wasn’t the nicest person in return.

My ex-finance’s opening line to the car salesman was “I want to buy my loving and beautiful fiance a brand new car. Show us what you have.”


For an hour I test drove a few different cars but nothing that got my pussy wet.

Then the car salesman said to me and my ex-finance:

“Your not very excited about getting a new car.”

Everybody went silent. There was only one thought that came to mind. For four years, I always kept my mouth shut. I never crossed my ex, even if I disagreed. Not sure why, maybe because of the power I thought he had but really lacked, but this day I said what I thought, and even after I said it shocked me. I said:

“It’s only a piece offering because I caught him fucking another woman last night,” I said pointing to my ex.

Ohhhhhhh, this did not go over well with my ex. But I didn’t fucking care, it was true.

My ex apologized to the salesman and we left.

“Why did you embarrass me like that,” he asked?

“Because it’s true,” I replied as my eyes are now starting to tear up.

He pulled into a restaurant and we had lunch. We ate in silence. Not sure if he was waiting on me or if I was waiting on him to say something. Then my phone rings, it’s my mother. I excuse myself and when I returned to the table he asked, “Who was that?”

My mother, I replied.

He took a deep breath, looked at his food and asked, “Did you tell her?”

“No.” (And I didn’t.)

A few moments of silence went by and I said: “She told me to tell you hi and she loves you,” I said looking down at my plate, picking at my food.

He put his fork down and asked if I was done. Yes I replied. I had no appetite.

We got in the car and he pulled into the Mercedes dealership when I thought we were going home.

When we pulled in, my pussy got wet, I was in love, I HAD to have that car. It was a brand new silver CLK. More importantly I was hoping it would be the most expensive car on the lot. Not the most expensive, but one of them.

A male and female car salesman approach us. My ex expressed we were interested in the car but I immediately interrupted them and requested, Tim, the car salesman who showed me some cars when I visited a few weeks prior.

They were kind to my request and said they would go get him. A few minutes later a tall, thin, well groomed African American gentleman started walking towards us. He was a kind, sincere man who didn’t try to feed me BS as most car salesmen do. Instead he was like a friend who came along for the ride to give me advice to make sure I wasn’t screwed over. Tim immediately remembered me and my name without having to reintroduce myself. He began to talk about the vehicle we were standing in front of when my ex interrupted him and said:

“Tim, is it?

Tim nods his head yes.

My ex continued to say, “Sorry for the inconvenience but we would prefer if the other two sales people would help us.”

Tim had a dumbfounded look on his face followed by sadness.

I was now fucking pissed and livid. My ex did not want to deal with Tim because he was fucking black. I watched Tim leave and the other two sales people walk towards us.

We bought the car, and I drove off in this stupid fucking Mercedes.

While driving home I really wanted to make a detour and run away. Driving back home instead of bolting was one of the stupidest mistakes I had ever made.

That night I didn’t sleep. While my ex was laying next to me snoring his ass off I didn’t think about leaving him due to his infidelity but rather how embarrassed I was at the dealership for the way he treated Tim.

The next morning I called the dealership, spoke to Tim and asked if he wanted to do lunch. Thankfully, he happily accepted.

A few hours later I met him at the restaurant of his choice. I smiled when I saw him, and he in return he grinned.

We talked, we laughed and then he started to get personal in a non-romantic way. I learned his wife had cheated on him and was confused about leaving her because of the kids. (I could completely relate, but I hadn’t shared my story.)

I asked him: “What will make you happy?”

His eyes lit up and he smiled. He began talking about this non-organization he wanted to start for abused kids.It was a brilliant idea and for the next 30 minutes he didn’t stop glowing as he went into detail about his idea.

“I just need to save enough money and trying to find investors. Hopefully it will be up and running in two years,” he said.

When lunch was over we went back next door to the dealership. He went inside to get my car plates and I went to my car, reached in the glove compartment for the card and check that was enclosed. It was the least I could do for my ex’s stupidity and him not getting the full commission on this fucking car. I opened the card, tore the check and wrote another. I had increased the figure.

Yeah, if my ex finds out I will deal with him later I thought. Besides, the second figure I wrote on the check still wasn’t enough in my mind.

Tim changed my car plates, I gave him the card followed by a hug and a thank you.

I called the dealership a few weeks later and they said he no longer worked there. I never saw or spoken to him again. Then today I get the following email from Tim:

Hi Priscilla,

I hope you’re doing well. I tried calling you two years ago but your number was disconnected. I was cleaning out my email when I came across an email you had sent me.

I am doing great, I am now divorced and have custody of the kids. My dream we discussed came true and it has really taken off.

Had it not been for you, it would not of come true. Thanks for your kindness and hopefully you’re not with that, well, I will stop here, but you know what I want to say.


Needless to say, my ex may have judged Tim based on his color, but really Tim is a real MAN!!!

My Vision: I Saved a Little Girl’s Life

17 Jun

This morning I got in my car and began driving. I turned the music up and ten minutes later I turned it down.

My vision was blurry, could hardly breathe and felt dizzy. I had to pull over. I merged into the right lane when I had a blackout…..and a vision.

I was sitting in the backseat of a silver truck, next to a little girl. I knew it was a silver truck because of the side mirrors.

“Can we go to the zoo daddy, can we, can we,” the little girl yelled.

“Maybe next weekend sweetie,” said the father.

“But I want to go now,” she said.

“Your mom will worry, I’ve got to take you back to your mother.”

I looked at the little girl, she laid back in her seat and was sad.

Not exactly sure how the accident happened but the truck took a sharp swerve, tumbled a few times, stood back on four wheels….and then I came to.

Good thing the highway was silent because I blacked out for a good minute.

I still couldn’t breathe and now I had a headache. I slightly closed my eyes and said a prayer for the family. My only concern now was to get home, so I could get out of this fucking car before I had another vision.

For the next few miles I drove 80 if not 90mph on the abandoned highway when I noticed an object in the middle of the road.

It was a silver truck parked sideways in the center lane of the highway. I got nearer and the top of the truck was caved in, like it had tumbled a few times as in my vision. I am now breathing heavily. It is the same truck in my vision.

I park my car in the middle of the highway, jumped out and approached the truck trying to open all doors but they were locked. I have to help these people I thought.

I stepped back and kicked in the window of the driver side door . I didn’t notice my leg was now covered in blood.

I saw the father with his body laying across the steering wheel, but did not see the little girl. I reached into he truck to unlock the door and opened the back door. The little girl was on the floor board, lifeless.

I carry the little girl from the floorboard to the highway concrete pavement. She is not breathing. I perform CPR and after a few minutes she coughs, chokes, throws up and opens her eyes.

I plop on the concrete, and can now breathe. Relieved is the best word.

The little girl started to close her eyes.

“No, stay with me sweetie,” I said.

She opened her eyes again.

“Where’s my daddy,” she asked?

“He’s fine sweetie,” I said. The fact was I didn’t know if he was okay. In the meantime someone else had approached the accident and got the father out of the car.

“What’s your favorite color, I asked?

“Purple,” she said in a weak tone.

“So is mine,” I said with a smile.

Then I heard from a distance:

“He’s not breathing.”

“Switch,” I yelled.

When I approached the father he had the look I had once seen once before. He was dead. I attempted CPR but nothing.

“Did you call for an ambulance,” I yelled?

“Yes,” he replied.

“Then where the fuck are they,” I screamed?

Minutes later I heard sirens. I abandoned the father and rejoined the little girl. The man had the little girl laughing, and I smiled.

“What’s your name,” I asked?

“Brianna,” she said with a slight giggle.

“What’s yours”?

“Priscilla,” I replied.

“Vanilla,” she said?

I smiled again. I heard the sirens getting nearer.

“Is my daddy okay,” she asked?

“Help is on it’s way sweetie.”

When paramedics arrived, they pronounced the father dead at the scene. When they attended to the little girl I started to walk back to my car when I heard:

“Vanilla, will you come to the hospital with me?”

I turned around and said, “Of course Brianna, I will meet you there.”

During the 15 minute drive to the hospital I was sad, even cried a little. Who is going to tell this little girl she no longer has a father?

When I arrived at the hospital they would not let me see Brianna, I was not family. A paramedic overheard me and mentioned to the nurse I had saved the little girl’s life.

They let me back and when I got to her room she had a glowing smile on her face.

“Have you seen my father,” she asked?

“No, not yet,” I said with a broken heart.

Shortly after a nurse came in the room and said:

“Sweetie, your mother is here.”

I kissed Brianna on the forehead, walked out of the room and back to the lobby of the emergency room.

There was a woman at the nurses station crying uncontrollably and said:

“He can’t be dead.”

The nurse looked my way, noticed I was leaving and said:

“That woman saved your daughter’s life.”

I stop and turn. The woman and I look at each other. She approaches me. She’s still crying and with smeared mascara on her face she said:

“Do you smoke?”

“Yes I do,” I replied.

We walked out of the emergency room and into the parking garage to light up a cigarette.

We didn’t say much. We both didn’t know what to say.

“Thank you for saving my daughter’s life,” she said with while her fingers shook before taking another drag of her cigarette.

I said nothing. Your welcome did not seem appropriate.

We sat in silence again, then she said:

“And I was going to tell him tomorrow I wanted to stop the divorce.”

Happy Father’s Day

My Visions, My Curse

14 Jun

When I was nine years old, mother and I left the movie theater after seeing When Harry met Sally.

Mom unlocked the car door and instead of opening the passenger door as I always did, I reached for the handle of the driver back seat.

“Priscilla, what are you doing,” mother asked as she noticed my odd behavior.

“I don’t know, I just feel like sitting in the back,” I said.

Actually it was the first time I had ever rode in the back seat since I could remember. But on this particular day something told me not to sit up front with my mother.

During the short drive home mother continued to harp on why I chose to sit in the back seat. Maybe her feeling were hurt or thought I was mad at her. I was about to be mad if she didn’t let it go.

“Priscilla, are you okay,” she said glancing at me in the rearview mirror.

“Yes mother, I ju……

BAM…….the car spins……we hit a telephone pole and a few cars before we come to a halt. By the grace of GOD, mother and I walked away from this accident without a scratch or bruise on us. However, had I been sitting in the passenger front seat that would have been the last day my mother had a daughter. Just to give you an idea, the passenger door was completely caved in and a few more inches the smashed in door would have punctured my mother’s arm.

It was shortly after this accident when I started having visions, visions that only occur when I’m in a motorized vehicle and which ALWAYS involves an automobile accident.

My first vision was a few months later when mother was driving me to dance practice. I saw a green car getting hit by an 18 wheeler. We drove a green car. One might think I was paranoid after the accident, but I wasn’t, it was REAL.

“Pull over, pull over,” I screamed to mother. She did and I started crying. I was freaking out, it was so intense.

I told mother about what I saw and she assured me we would not be in another accident because she’s now more of a cautious driver.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” mother said with her beautiful smile.

I half-heartedly smiled back, my heart still racing. Her reassurance didn’t exactly ease my worries.

Mother gets back onto the road and we notice congestion at the intersection ahead, two blocks from the dance studio.

There it was……an 18 wheeler and a green car. We looked at each other. I told you mother.

During my teens, the visions became more frequent, powerful and intense. I hated these visions because I couldn’t help these people. I couldn’t see the exact location of the accident and sometimes I would have a vision seconds before it happened. The worst part was before each vision I would get a werid feeling, almost like an anxiety attack, it was awful.

I hadn’t had a vision or an attack in over 2 years…..until this morning.

I woke up a few hour ago with sweaty palms, shaking fingers, could barely swallow and breathe. Not another attack I thought. I know things have been stressful lately but they have gotten better.

I drink some water hoping the attack will go away but it only gets worse. I get in my car and drive towards the neighborhood pharmacy in hopes there is an over-the-counter medicine to ease my rattled nerves.

Within the next few minutes my attack gets even worse, I am now feeling naucious……and then it happened……I had a vision.

I saw a woman wearing a yellow shirt crossing the street and hit by a black F150 truck to be exact.

I begin to cry. No…..this can not be happening again I thought as I made a U-turn to go back home.  I was about to turn my blinker on to turn onto my street when I saw something in the road. It was dark, the lights on the pole were too dim to see what it was. I get closer………

There it was, a woman wearing a yellow shirt laying on top of the windshield of the black truck.

Please LORD take these visions away from me, or give me the gift to be able to help these people.

My Last Day as a Stripper……

2 May


(WARNING: I am about to share a true story that forever changed my life 10 years ago on May 1, 2002. Please bear with me because this was hard to write. I hope I don’t make you cry)


I try to call your mother but there is no privacy. I walk to the front of the strip club and police are roping off the crime scene with yellow and black tape. I go round to the back of the building and police are everywhere searching for evidence. I walk back inside and your friends and co-workers are crying and being interviewed by law enforcement. I head for the dressing room, the same trail you and I walked hundreds of times beside one another. I enter and lock the bathroom stall behind me as I clutch onto my phone, not prepared to make the call to your mother, after all you are only 20 years old.


I dial, the phone rings, and your mother answers with the ’you woke me up’ tone.
I say nothing, I only cry.
Her: Priscilla is that you?


I’m choking on my tears.
Her: What’s wrong? What happened?              


Me: Ty… (Crying)….ler….h… (Crying)…e’s…de…. (Crying)….ad
Her: What? Oh my God, what happened?
I could hear her wake up your father who was lying in bed beside her to break the bad news.
Me: Mrs. Long, your son is dead because of me. I’m so sorry, I said still weeping uncontrollably.


It was an ordinary day at the apartment. We were both scheduled to work, you as the dance manager and I as another unreliable ‘stripper’ who hated her job. Remember you often had to drag my lazy ass to work? I made many excuses to avoid taking my clothes off for another disgusting stiff dick who would go home and jack off thinking about the naughty lap dance I had given him.


This particular day my excuse consisted of studying for my final exams and having spent the night hugging my pillow while I watched old sappy love movies, which you hated.
You slapped my feet as they rested comfortably on the coffee table and said “Get your ass up, you’re going to work with me.” We debated on the subject for an hour. Aside from trying to convince me the money would be good because it was a Saturday night, and I needed to make my car payment, that I obviously didn’t have, your real reasoning for dragging me to work that day was because you liked working with me. I was your partner in crime, your best friend, roommate, co-worker and college classmate. Sometimes you gave up during our debate on this subject but most of the time you won.


My complaining about working that day continued during the two-mile drive to work. You firmly clinched my leg and with a smile you said, “It will be fun, trust me.” You pulled your car in the parking lot, where the pink flashing billboard sign of a naked woman stood, gave your keys as usual to Rob, the valet guy who was your second best friend and together we walked up the steps leading to the double doors we both dreaded entering and referred to as hell.


Once in the dressing room you immediately interrupted a cat fight with two of the “day time” dancers. I joined my fellow strippers on the bench, staring at myself in the mirror wandering why I let you talk me into coming to work when I could be at home watching Seinfeld. You checked the dance list and called to recruit more dancers, I continued to drag ass to get ready only wondering which Seinfeld episode I was missing.
“You better hurry up, you’re on main stage next,” you said slightly yanking my ponytail flirtingly.
“Yeah, I heard the DJ,” I replied.
You chuckled, sat next to me and said, “Do I need ask the DJ to cover for you again?”


You are referring to the fact my makeup is not yet fully applied, my hair not curled and my dress and 7 inch stripper shoes are still in the locker I have not yet opened.
“I told you before we left the apartment I didn’t want come,” I said applying the blush again to my already rosy cheeks.


There were a few seconds of silence, you still sitting next to me facing the lockers and me still staring at my disgusting self in the mirror when you said, “I tell you what, if you’re on main stage within five seconds after Ruben (the DJ) calls your name I promise not to kick out any of your customers tonight.”


Now you have my attention….


You had been suspended twice, hospitalized once, suffered a fractured rib and put many of my male customers in the hospital for touching me inappropriately, not to mention interrupting my cash flow. Any other stripper it was three strikes and you were out but me, my customers were thrown own without a fair warning.


“So what do you say,” you asked?


“Deal.” I said, and we shook on it. (Remember this ASSHOLE????)


“Then get your ass on stage,” you said this time flirtingly slapping my ass.


You stood ten feet back from main stage smiling and giving me the thumbs up sign when I entered main stage with a second to spare. The night went smoothly, you did not fuck with my customers as you promised, and thanks to our hand shake I was making money. At 1AM our eyes met. We were both proud of one another. I was on time when I entered the main stage and you hadn’t yet grabbed one of my customer’s balls and kicked them out as you usually did.  I did spot you several times lurking during a few of my lap dances, but you kept your cool and were true to your promise. And your reward for such good behaviour was when I blew you a kiss and you caught it smiling.

Then fifty-two minutes before closing time I approached the table I now regret. I sat in the lap of one of the four Hispanic men who could barely speak English and who gave me a $20 tip on main stage.  It was easy and fast money considering there was a language barrier. I gave the man in the white shirt at the table $320 worth of lap dances, who was drunk and incredibly horny, which explained his inappropriate, touchy behaviour.


I spotted you several times while dancing for him and watched you shift your weight from one foot to the other, trying to hold your end of the deal and reframe from kicking the asshole out of the club. I gave you the, “I got this, I’m a big girl” glance and you hesitantly backed away.  I gave him five dances and took a break, five more and another break. Then mid way in twelfth dance the man leaned forward and bit my nipple. Remember? There was no time to respond, you had already grabbed my shoulders, pushed me back, twisted the man’s shirt and literally carried him out of the club with the man’s shoes a good ten inches from the floor.


You lost and I won, I thought laughing to myself. You surrendered with only ten minutes until the party was over. I stood at fourth stage by the front door as I covered my breasts with one hand, and held my clothes in the other, standing only in my T-back awaiting for you to come back in to give you shit about losing our bet.


Then I heard the DJ announce bubble gum shots in the parking lot, code word for fight. Three managers run past me and out the front door almost knocking me over. The double doors to the entrance swing open and I briefly see your 6’6, 295 pound body lying on the brick concrete in front of the main entrance.


I run towards you.


I am now standing over your head as I watch a river of your blood stream down the front steps of the club. I kneel beside you still only wearing my T-back. Your white button down shirt revealed one bullet hole, then another, and another. There were too many gunshot wounds to count. I lay my body onto yours in hopes to stop the bleeding; I didn’t even notice our fellow co-workers wrapped a blanket around my bare body. I can now hear the sirens getting nearer. I perform CPR but you’re still not breathing.


 Then I look into your eyes and realized you are dead. Your energetic and enthusiastic spirit we all love was no longer glowing. I scream, I cry, I shake you to come back to me but no response. I feel someone or something pulling me away but I fight, I cling onto you with all my might hoping you will come back to me. But you don’t. You continued to lay there lifeless as I was covered in your blood.


After five hours of sobbing, watching paramedics cover you with a black blanket and being interviewed by the police, I get in your 76 Ford Mustang you named ‘Suzie’, your baby you would never let me drive, despite how many times I pleaded. The same car you drove us to work in that day and were supposed to drive us home in. An investigator was worried about me driving due to my devastation of your death and followed me back to ‘our’ but now ’my’ apartment.


My head is pounding from crying but I don’t care and with the little energy I had left I walked up the stairs to the second floor of our apartment, the same steps we walked down together 15 hours earlier. I hold your keys, the same key you locked our apartment with when we left, and the key you were suppose to use when we got home. Our front door swings open. I want to plop on the couch and you massage my feet like you do every night after we get home from work, but you’re not here. The shoes I asked you to take to your room before we left are still firmly planted on the living room floor. You said you would put them up when we got home but you can’t, you’re no longer here. I go throughout the apartment and turn over every picture of ‘us,’ I even threw our 1st place mud race trophy through the glass patio door. I enter your room and can still smell the cologne you sprayed on before we left. I collapse on your bed as I often did when you held me as I cried about a guy or failed a test.


For the next two days my tears soaked your pillow.


I am so FUCKING mad. I don’t know who to be angrier at, you or your killer!!! Why didn’t you fucking listen to me??? I didn’t want to go to work that day!! I’m a big girl, I can ward off evil and perverted men, and you don’t always have to protect me!!! If you hadn’t drug me to work that day and or stuck to our deal you would be laying beside me right now.


I HATE YOU!!! I cry harder.


“Yes, I do need to protect you. You’re my best friend,” you would say with a smile.


I didn’t go to your viewing. I didn’t think I could hold it together. I arrived 15 minutes late to your funeral. It was standing room only. I spotted your mother sitting at the first pew of the church and squeezed beside her. Tears rolling down both our cheeks, she took my hand into hers and we shared the, “I miss, and love him” look. That was the last thing I remember at your funeral. I blacked out. Our friends say I tried to jump in the coffin with you, shook you, begging for you to wake up, but I don’t remember any of that.


Apparently I didn’t snap back to reality until I was standing amongst your friends and family at the gravesite. You were being lowered into the ground, with thousands of red roses that had been gently laid on top of you by each and every one of us when we got the call….. The man who shot and murdered you was caught and now behind bars. But still justice has not yet been served.


May the man who killed you rot in hell and you rest in peace. In less than a year I will be sitting front row for the best movie I will ever watch. When the poison is injected into your murderer, and I watch his life being taken away as he took away yours. That is the day justice will be served and I will smile again.


After the funeral your mother gave me your daily journal that I never knew you had. She said she felt bad because she thought she was invading your privacy. She continued to say it would be in my best interest to read it that is when I was ready.


A year after you died I got a bottle of wine, poured a glass and opened your journal I had safely tucked away waiting for this moment. I read how much fun you had during our trip to Florida and how you planned my surprise birthday party. All your entries made me laugh, cry or both.


Then I read what you wrote two days before you died.

The day after you were murdered you had a special evening for the two of us. We were to have a romantic dinner at the restaurant, “The Craft” and stay in a penthouse suite at the Crescent Hotel in downtown Dallas.


I continue to read….I cry if not harder than the day you died.


I close your journal weeping about what I had just read. I couldn’t believe it. You were my best friend and nothing more….


My answer is yes, I will marry you! I only wish I could tell you in person.


I love you and always will.
Tyler Long April 12, 1981-May 1, 2002

On 13 August 2012 22:08, Priscilla Hayes <> wrote: