scarredangel

December 3, 1995
A dead girl lay in a grassy field along a secluded rural road in southwest Grand Prairie. The unseasonably warm winter weather, harbinger of foggy nights, created a mist surrounding the still water of nearby Joe Pool Lake. Bludgeoned, shot twice in the head, her once lovely face was nearly unrecognizable. Lying on her back, her right hand clutching the grass, her left arm slightly askew, she still wore the workout clothes from the gym she visited with her mother the night before: a pair of blue-and-green plain flannel shorts, a white Nike brand long-sleeved knit shirt over a gray T-shirt bearing the logo UIL Region-I Cross-Country Regionals 1995. One of her white-stockinged feet dangled precariously from a barbed-wire fence; on her right ankle she wore an ankle bracelet. The victim is 16-year-old Adrianne Jones.

One of the strangest, hardest, most painful things I have ever dealt with, happened on this day 9 years ago. It brings me nearly to tears, even after all this time.

Im terrible with dates. But, it never fails, on this day I have a sinking feeling in the core of my being. I honestly wasnt even sure what the date was today when I began to feel so down. But, I figured it had to be the 3rd, since I was feeling the way I did. Over and over I found myself on the verge of tears. That can be a little strange, when youre alone at work and having a relatively normal day. It didnt really dawn on me until I was driving home what was going on. I feel like such as ass, I had to come home and check my old journal to make sure that today was the day.

As sad as this day is to me, I think its incredible that the human mind and heart can retain things like this with such accuracy. Thinking back now, the time of day (today) when I started to sink was right around the same time I spoke to Adrianne for the last time. Kinda creepy if you ask me. Well, not really. Sometimes Ill have a dream about Adrianne, or shell just pop in my mind. Ill call her mom, Linda, and shell ask me, Adrianne came to see you didnt she? Talking with Linda on days like today always helps me. Her mother has the same sparkle in her eyes that I found so endearing.

I loved to take pictures of Adrianne. My senior year consisted of one required course and 3 honors art classes. My favorite class was Photography. Id get a pass from my art teacher, and wander the halls aimlessly. I would always run into Adrianne and make her pose for pictures all over Campus. I discovered while taking pictures of her, that I HATE posed pictures. I began to take candid shots of her and truly fell in love with photography. The week before she was murdered, I had been taking pictures of Adrianne, and we got to rough-housing. In the process of much tickling and protesting (on her part, heh), she accidentally knocked my camera strap off my shoulder and CRASH there goes my camera. It popped open and the film was exposed to sunlight. It damaged my camera beyond repair, but I didnt tell her that. She felt so bad, and I told her dont worry its fine, Its not like I cant take more pictures of you later..

I never did get to take another picture of her. The last roll of film I developed by hand, contained some really amazing pictures of Adrianne. I gave them to her mom.

I never got another camera. And I never really enjoyed photography after that. I do still love to carry a disposable camera with me at times, but its not the same as my badass camera and my lovely (though sometimes not so willing) model.

I dont have any of my photos scanned. This one will have to suffice. All of us that were there in the aftermath have a copy of this. I keep mine in my old journal.

Thanks to www.crimelibrary.com for the opening quote and this horribly cropped copy of our photo.