I called Ellen in New York at night, to see if I could stay in her place, while she was away so I could play with my friend Pat. She said yes, and asked had I not heard that Jenna was dead? As if on command, tears were shed; the river of tragic sadness fed until the waters crashed, smashing reality most unwanted into my brain. I wish I could claim I never knew her or her fame for then, don't you see the tears would stop, the pain would ease and all might be pleased to come and join me (leaving their pain to cease and be deceased) in my imaginary lot: in the universe where Jenna hasn't died. No one has even tried to cry because her breath found a way to continue. Just around the corner she sparkles, embraces life's former vissitudes and loves and lovers in dormers and hallways, always with me, always with you. One thing I know, her smile, infectious with intelligent loveliness can never leave any of us - not even the crow who flies so large (and like her hair so) brilliant and black. (can't argue with this or that: we want her back now, and forever, in charge of her own path that might once again meet and cross our own, however fleet- ing, through times of sorrow and sleet she will once again make us dance, make us laugh.) Maggie Flinn