She walks through concrete

A couple of years ago, we had an intern at the office whom I would sometimes end up riding the bus with. The bus is the penultimate leg of my journey to work. After the bus is a long walk down a sidewalk through the burbs.

She and I were making this walk one morning. While we were chatting about who knows what, I noticed some pieces of wood, ahead, sticking out of the sidewalk, maybe an orange flag. I forget what exactly, but I realized there was wet concrete ahead. As we got closer, I stepped off the sidewalk into a yard. And I left plenty of room for her to do the same. She didn't immediately. She kept walking and chatting.

I thought, "She can't possibly not see there's wet concrete ahead." And the closer we got, the louder and more incredulous this thought became until....

Ploop

"Whoa!"

Ploop

Ploop

And she was off into the grass on the other side of the concrete from me, her shoes now caked in drying cement, and three tiny footprints left in the concrete, telling the tale.

This girl was found in Lake Michigan this weekend.

Sorry, that's dramatic and perhaps not fair, but that's how I feel.

I guess what makes it so hard is that whatever happened to her, I can see. I know what she looked like. I know her voice. So many people pass from this world in anonymity to me, but not her. I've got a face for this one.

The police either don't know much or aren't releasing details, hoping that if it was a murder, someone will call with a detail that couldn't possibly be known or conveyed by someone who wasn't there at the time. And in a couple of days, weeks, months, years, never, the case will be "ruled" on. And a name on a board will go from red to black.

But to me, she'll always be the girl who walked through concrete.