With Tracy's departure, I had not consciously determined to find a replacement for my severed emotional attachment. I knew such behavior on my behalf would not only have been uncharacteristic of me but futile as well; people were not like spark plugs. However, as the months progressed, the hole wherein Tracy's memory resided slowly filled and was replenished, just as a mined crater will be reclaimed by nature and gradually become a thing of beauty rather than an eternally gaping hole of waste. I was filled with strength and confidence from budding health and vitality; I was filled with the undying love of my family, but more than all else, I discovered that, with Norm, I had in reality, lost virtually nothing. Mar. 15, 1977... I went to Norm's house and we made blueberry pancakes for supper. We talked about a lot of things. It was a joy to be invited to Norm's house. We did not chafe each other's nerves; conversation came effortlessly, yet silence was no menace. I took pleasure in his neatly arranged house and applauded his various purchases which adorned the walls or were placed about the rooms. With his mind bent on improvement, the house mirrored a flare for design and decoration as well as Norm's character. The living room was a retreat of perpetual autumn, of golden, rust and wood, of tranquility and restiveness. To be at my brother's house was to be at ease, and I readily welcomed his invitations to visit as they became more frequent. As my life took on the complications which seemed interwoven with the stage of adolescence, I became increasingly aware of the necessity for peace in existence, and felt myself to be extremely fortunate to have Norm as a valued companion. My frustrations needed verbal release and an understanding listener who was sufficiently detached from my daily routine (home, school, etc.) to reply in an entirely objective fashion. It became evident that Norm and I shared a bond which reached deeper than an ordinary brother/sister relationship, for understanding and compatibility was the foundation from which our relationship grew. PAGE 127 Chapter 17 Ninth Grade "It was a note scribbled on an intentionally crumpled piece of paper. No purchased card could have captured the essence of that note, or of the crumpled course my life must take." CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Ninth Grade