Prologue

I look back now and remember growing up as a young girl in the 1960's. It was the era of peace and love. It was the time of tough cars, the first broadcasted national presidential election, Woodstock, civil rights, Vietnam and the first man in space. It was unlike any era that had come before it or that would ever be again. It left a severe impact not just in history, but in my heart.

When I was a child my mother would tell me persistently that everything in life happens for a reason. Each night before sleep we would say our prayers by my bedside and she would whisper in my ear "be at peace darling," then she would turned off the light and exit the room. I still remember the smell of her lilac perfume that lingered in the air for a brief moment after her departure and the sound of her gown as it brushed against the carpet where we knelt. My mother would remind me daily that there was nothing to fear and that I must always remember that God has a plan for me. I truly believed that she was right and that I was safe. I had never any doubt in my mind that whatever God had planned for me in the future, it would be truly glorious. However as time passed by and I began to know closer the morality and price of living, I came to realize that it was up to me to decide what to do with the time that was given to me. This new realization frightened me and brought with it the fear of failure that would haunt me for the rest of my life.

I still look back often with wondering eyes upon the woman who had given me life and I admire the depth of strength that radiated from within every inch of her soul. The quality of her character fascinated me. She had married young and for money, which was customary in those days. Born the first of six children to a wealthy plantation owner in Georgia. She was shipped away to a Catholic boarding school in Oklahoma when she was only ten years old. She saw her parents twice a year and after the age of sixteen, those visits were sparse and soon became none existent. The last time she returned home was to collect her inheritance from the bank and to sweep away the ashes that were all that remained of the fire that had killed her entire family. My mother had been bred to prosper and that was exactly what she did.

My father was a frivolous ivy league college man who often lived beyond his means and thrived off of the success of the glass factory that he had built from the foundation up. We saw him very little and when he did grace us with his presence for an hour each night at dinner, we were reimbursed for his lack of company with possessions and lavish gifts, instead of love. I often wondered what condition my mothers heart must have been in, to love so deeply a man who loved only his wealth. She received no compensation for her devotion, except solitude. How lonely a life my mother must have lived and yet she had bore it with such elegance and grace, that her pain was barely visible even to those who knew her well.

Since the day of my birth, my mother had adored me as more than just a child. To her I was a gift from God to fill the hole that my father had left in her life. I gave her both companionship and undivided attention. She felt no need to impress upon me her worth and value, for there was nothing that she could have done to make me adore her less. I see now that her true insecurity which was clearly evident in her perfectionism and if I had not been so blind at the time, I would have seen it then. My father had made it very clear with each disdainful glare in her direction when she spoke, that she was not worthy of his love. She was merely something that he tolerated simply for beauty and reputations sake. She was a young beautiful bride for an ugly and evil heart to adorn like jewelery and then take off when nobody was looking. I was the first product of their love and I would be the last.

I saw the fear in her eyes each time that she burned my toast at breakfast or the way that her hands trembled when she told me why she did not believe that it was proper for me to be out past eleven unsupervised. Any other parent would have been firm and secure in the upbringing of their children, my mother was terrified. She feared that at any moment I would see what my father saw and cast her away. This was an impossible occurrence and still to this day, I wish that I would have told her so. I wish that I could repeat those moments and see life through the eyes that I have now. Yet the past is concrete, solid and unchangeable. You can do nothing except accept it for what it is and move forward with what you have left.

Her consistent advice was a nuisance at such a rebellious age and yet it was the one thing that has remained stained in my mind forever, untainted and untarnished, even as the memory of her face seems to fade with time. My mother had told me that I must be cautious with each step that I take in life, paying careful attention so that I do not fall. She explained softly that everyone will fall at some point in their lives and by her own selfless actions she had demonstrated to me daily how to stand back up with dignity. There are times when we come upon certain crossroads in our life and the decisions we are forced to make have a way of steering us down the wrong paths. It takes practice to listen closely and allow our hearts to lead us home again. My mother was a very wise women and I was simply a foolish child who did not heed her warnings and ignored her advice. I was much too caught up in the glamor and dramatics of adolescents to pay much attention to wisdom. Yet I never knew until the day when my mother was killed and my world began to disintegrate before my very eyes, just how wise she really was.

I think back now over the woman that I had been in those days. I was a healthy child in the middle of my youth, sixteen to be exact. Before my mother had died I was the prominent figure of the stereotypical social elite. I was a big shot at Tulsa High. Only a sophomore and yet I had ruled the very foundation of that school. I thrived off of the knowledge that I was was the envy of every female in that dull and dreary city. I could feel their eyes on me each morning as I pulled up into the parking lot with my auspicious new 1964 Pontiac GTO convertible and the senior captain of the varsity basketball team on my arm. There was nothing more that I could have possibly desired. I had it all. At least that is what society had crafted me to believe.

I know better now.

I know now how truly naive and shallow I had been. I thought more highly of myself than any human had a right to. Maybe all that has happened in my life since then, was merely a lesson in the self-destruction of vanity. I was a cone artist, an actress of the most deceptive sort. It took little effort to cover up my arrogance with a sweet disposition and a fake sense of humility. For I knew very well that there was not a single speck of humility within me. I had learned to hide it with skill. It would have broken my mothers heart to see what her daughter had truly become. On the outside I was a saint and on the inside I was selfish and cruel. My heart had grown hard and cold to the feelings of others, frozen solid and had lacked the malleability to form itself around anyone or anything except it's own center. I had watched my parents relationship most intently as I grew up. I had studied their every move and I knew exactly what happens when you give a piece of yourself away. You become lost. So I found a way to fool those around me. They took my reserved demeanor as meekness, when really it was simply selfishness. Yet even through the act that I portrayed each day, my arrogance often had a way of showing off best when in a crowed.

I craved the attention of others. I remember the thrill that I had received from simply knowing that someone knew that I existed. I was quick witted and conniving. There was nothing that I had ever wanted, that I could not have. I was so skilled at the art of deceiving that I often had my friends smiling as I insulted them and handing me things, before they even knew what they were giving me. When a new student at school would ask me for my name, I would be the first to say softly like drops of acid "My name is Diana Valentino, Valentine to those who know me and you...do not." Preceding a sweet smile, I would exit the room with a toss of my deep brown hair as it fell in cascades of curls down my slender back.

My life was flawless. I would look around with my deep blue eyes and see nothing but a bright future laid sprawled out before me. Destruction was the very last thing that I had anticipated and yet it slowly slithering in undetected. I had not the slightest inclination that all of the light was fading from my life, until the day that it had disappeared completely. Lightening struck the center of my universe and my world was left in darkness.

I can still feel my heart pounding in my chest and the terrible cold as I touched my mothers hand in the coffin for the last time. She was gone, taken from me during the time in my life when I had needed her the most. I starred upon her face and yet it was not really her face at all. She was no longer there, her soul had ascended into heaven, of that I was certain. Of what I was not so certain was whether or not I would join her there someday. Now all that remained before me was her body, like a porcelain doll in a box. Her lower half had been covered at our request, crushed beyond recognition from the impact of the car that had taken her life. I cried right there in the middle of that morbid room as I squeezed her hand tightly in my own. She never squeezed back. I can not remember how long I just knelt there wallowing in my own self pity. No one disturbed me. No one cared. They were all too concerned with their own business to notice the child on her knees in the shadow. I leaned in closely and whispered in her ear "be at peace now."

I closed my eyes and turned away from her for the last time. I walked out into the dark streets of town with no clear direction as to where I was heading. I was alone, not physically alone but I was screaming inside. I was begging, mourning for the family that I no longer had. Within me there dwelt a secret longing for my father to hold me, to tell me that he loved me and that everything would be all right. That was the one thing that I had needed the most and yet I knew that it was the one thing that would never come. Nothing would ever be the same and yet nothing ever is after something so devastating occurs. You pick up the pieces of what's left of the puzzle and you piece them back together again as best as you can. The holes will forever remain and the picture will never seem quite as beautiful without them. It will never be complete. This was my life now.

I remained still as time continued to move forward. Slowly I began to waste away and clung on even tighter to the desire of love, even in its most destructive form. Little did I know that it would be revealed to me in the shape of a young man named Sodapop Curtis and a group of boys who would not only show me love but life from the other side.