‘Perhaps my father didn’t get that plane,’ I thought.
‘Oh, please!’
My mother was at work and I called her on the telephone. She came home quickly and we went to the airport and waited for news.
Later, we learned my father was on the plane.
‘It’s not true!’ I shouted.
But it was true, and I began to cry.
I cried for weeks and weeks. I spent many days alone in my room. I was lonely and sad and I wanted to die too.
I stopped going out with my friends. I didn’t want to see other people. I stopped listening to Jake Rosso’s records and I took his pictures off my bedroom wall. I didn’t listen to music or watch television. Nothing mattered anymore.
