Dry-eyed
by Robin Kerry

Dim the light glows,
And I slit open my mind
To let the feelings of colored confusion and despair
Slide down my forehead
And dribble off the end of my nose,
Forming a puddle at his feet.
He wipes them up carefully
With his crimson handkerchief,
And, slipping them into his pocket,
He turns and walks silently away.
And I wonder why the tears won't flow
Now, when I want them the most.

Kathy's memories of Robin:
Robin was NEVER AFRAID OF ANYTHING. You know how most teenagers are always concerned about how their peers view them—always scared that someone is going to label them, make fun of them, or God forbid, associate them with the wrong social group? Well that was the last thing that would ever have concerned Robin. For as long as I can remember, she would make her observations, form her opinion and that was that. She dressed how she wanted, cut her hair how she wanted, and never gave a damn what anyone else thought about it. The most amazing thing about her was that the way she did things made people respect her. She was the epitome of the proverbial Irish diplomat; she had the ability to tell a man to go to hell in such a manner that he would genuinely look forward to the trip. There was never any question of anybody putting a label on her because there was no label that would have fit. I cannot possibly describe to you the kind of person that Robin truly was. The world would be a lot more fun if we had more people like her. I miss her tremendously. I love her, and I will never forget.

Tom's memories of Robin:
There's no better way of getting close to somebody than sharing an addiction. So I guess I had Marlboro to thank for my friendship with Robin. I think she was a bit suspicious of me at first. Jealousy was not in her nature, but she was extremely protective of Julie and of her own independence. I think she made a point of withholding judgment of me until she had ample time to form her own opinion. She often made a point of asserting her independence from Julie in these simple matters. The fact that they usually arrived at the same opinion about things was due strictly to their alikeness and was never a matter of Robin blindly following suit. A couple of nights before they were killed, we were at a family dinner and the two of us were out on the front porch, smoking what would be our last shared stub of the evening when Aunt Sheila came out to tell us to go inside for some pictures. When the screen door banged shut, Robin turned to me while she stubbed out our cigarette. "You're alright Tom" she said. And that was the highest praise.