I Followed The Yellow Brick Road

In the 70’s so many families left their cold home states and moved to beautiful sunny Florida. Some were chasing dreams of fishing and living near the beach others simply wanted to escape the soaring cost of living and the overwhelming crime back home. Although we never knew each other both Sweetie and I were young teenagers that left New York with our families for these very reasons. And from what I remember, our small community in the outskirts of Tampa/Clearwater was quiet and free of the large city crime dramas we had left behind. The perfect place to eventually get married and raise our two boys. Perhaps we were naïve, or perhaps we carried a bit of those negative vibes with us to this new place we called home.

It was July 16th, 1991 when in our small community made up of several hundred modest homes life would tragically change for one family and leave the rest of us reeling. Around the corner from us one of those 900 sq ft homes housed; four adults, four children and four dogs. Two of the adults who were sisters got into an argument. One sister shooting and killing the other and then opening fire on her own 14 year old son and 5 year old niece. The wounded son running across the narrow street and banging on a neighbors door for help, telling them that his mother had just shot his aunt, cousin and even himself. When the police arrived one of the officers was making his way to a back bedroom where the mother of the two sisters lay bedridden. Before he had a chance to reach her she used a second handgun and took her own life.

I wonder what happened to those children. They would be 49 and 39 now. Not much different than our own children. What were their lives like after that day? How are they doing now? We often drive though our old neighborhood. I can still pick out the house, and always glance at the corner house the young boy ran to for help. I take an extra glance at the door trim almost expecting to see the streaks of blood we saw on that tragic summer day back in 1991.