![]() Killed and raped her, I remind myself diligently it seems especially important to be precise tonight. Which is why, thirteen-and-a-half years ago at the age of twenty-one, she died. The world for her was a good place, and only going to get better. ![]() ![]() Unlike many children, Rachel never was afraid of clowns or barkers, the Ferris Wheel or the Tilt-a-Whirl or the roller coaster, speed or height or centrifugal force or things that are Her bouquet of balloons both obscures and magnifies her face. I smile at her and raise a hand in greeting. That one, passing now in front of me, has never had anything bad happen in her life, a story that seems far more plausible to me than the others, easier to accept. I hardly believe in their sorrow, and it angers me to have it presented as though it mattered, as though it gives us something in common. That one is dying of cancer of the prostate, liver, bowel. This one's husband was killed in a car accident. I don't know many of their names anymore, but I remember their faces and most of their stories. A lot of people I know-neighbors, the day clerk from the 7-11, the relief mail carrier. ![]() There are more people here than I expected. Rachel would have been charmed by all that. I'm sure they're violating all kinds of ordinances, not to mention the boundaries of good taste. A seedy, smelly, gaudy, two-truck affair, it set up last Saturday in the little park near our house. My daughter Rachel always loved carnivals, and she'd have been delighted by this one. ![]()
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