I will never forget that day. Not because I want to remember it, but rather because there is no way I can ever forget it. Not now. What happened following my innocent discovery has scarred this world, my world, so much that I fear I will never be able to clear it from my mind for a full five minutes. The memory still follows me thirty years later, creeping into every crevice of my mind. The images are so vivid that it could have all been a movie aired on television a thousand times in a row. That I just happened to have watched it all those times. The main difference is this actually happened…

I was a twig-like, brown haired, hazel-eyed tomboy who lived out in "the Middle of nowhere" as I called my street, Middle Road. Clothes, "Hot guys," and purses meant nothing to me. I was a wild, carefree sixteen-year-old who acted no more like she was sixteen than a twelve-year-old would. My boyfriend, and best friend, was the same way. He was, in all actuality, two years older than me, but our mental age was the same – about eleven. It was puppy love, truly. We romped through the back fields; we explored the nearby Elk Creek; we sang the lyrics to Bon Jovi's latest hit single at the top of our lungs as we drove down the roads of our small town. He and I rode mini-bikes, played "little kids games" with my younger siblings in the backyard, teased each other about who was taller, and generally acted like the complete hooligans we were. We prized the small moments. Reading the Sunday newspaper "Funnies" together after church, and curling up, arms rapped around each other, to watch movies with my siblings - who loved him nearly as much as I did – until it was long past sunset were among our favorites. That blue-eyed, dirty blond-haired wonder was my angel, and I, his treasure.

It was a Monday night when it all began. (Don't all bad things start out on Mondays?) I was an overworked sophomore. I had two humongous projects and four other assorted bits of homework due the next day. As I sat, tapping my pencil and daydreaming about this guy of mine, I made up my mind that I needed a break. At around nine o' clock, heading over to feed my horse seemed like the ideal twenty-minute getaway. Sprinting out of the cold, starry October night and into the cozy barn, I was immediately greeted by the mewing of Pepper, the gangly black adolescent barn cat. Reaching down to scoop up the little booger, I hadn't the slightest clue that he might as have been a serial killer for all the grief he would later cause me. I went on my way, bouncing joyously up the each of my six rabbits' cages.

"Hi Sebastian! Hi Sage! Hey Ace! You're a fuzzy bunny, aren't you?! Hey Questie-Quest, don't you bunny-growl at me! Hey Fatty! Hi Wiggs! You need some food?" Each of their responses, with the exception of Quest who gave me a firm "I-am-a-territorial-female-bunny-in-a-barn-full-of-dudes-stay-away-from-me!" growl, was the old hop-over-and-sniff-her-hand-for-food routine. Delighted with my freedom from the homework burden, if only for a moment, I shrieked happily and spazzed out. I darted into the hay stall and bounded up the bales like a mountain goat. Reaching the top, I stopped and peered over into the next stall.

"Tommy! Libero! YAHHHHH!!!" I shouted, "How are you? I'm HYPER!" Tommy thought he was a person, acted like a puppy-dog, and had many horse-like features that he didn't seem to notice. He turned his massive, dark brown Quarter Horse head to look at me. If you mixed a few Reese's Cups and a Hershey's bar in a kitchen blender, the result would be the same colour as his eye. How do I know this? Well, that is a different story…

Scooping Pepper up and taking him over to where my spoiled, dark bay, 16.1 hand, 21-year-old retired jumper stood waiting for his supper, I glanced about the stall. Since the hay and water buckets were full, I took hold of Tommy's feed bucket and went into the hay stall, where the grain was kept, to fill it. I finished my barn chores, said, "Good night!" to all the animals, and was about to leave when I noticed Pepper attempting the climb up the wood and sheet-metal siding of the barn. Laughing at his failed, but not yet given up attempts as his hind paws scrabbled uselessly on the slick metal, I scampered back into the barn to watch. So much for going right back to doing homework.