Question of the Day

Suggested by Shaker Pazuzu's Petals…

Think of a person you knew only briefly—no more than one year—who nonetheless left a significant and lasting impact on your life. It could be a lover, teacher, friend, boss, whatever. What did you learn, gain, or lose?

I can’t think of anyone who I knew for so short a time. Even my teachers were people I saw often after having their classes, because my parents were teachers, and so it was typical for me to see teachers outside of school. The closest I can come to answering this question is actually someone I never met—Tammy Zywicki.

Tammy Zywicki was driving from her home in Evanston, Illinois back to college in Grinnell, Iowa on August 23, 1992, but she never arrived. Her car was found abandoned, and her mother reported her missing. She was last seen by passing drivers, between 3:10pm and 4:00p.m, speaking with the driver of a tractor/trailer, who was described as a white male between 35 and 40 years of age, over six feet tall, with dark, bushy hair. On September 1, 1992, her body was found along I-44 in rural Lawrence County, Missouri. She had been stabbed to death, and her killer has never been caught.

I was headed for college for the first time that same day. My parents drove me, and all my stuff, and when they left, I was safe, if a bit lonely and nervous living away from home for the first time. I was at Loyola University Chicago’s Lake Shore Campus, just a few miles away from Evanston, from which Tammy had departed earlier that day.

Over the next few weeks, I heard about Tammy, and watched the news compulsively, hoping desperately she would be found. And then she was. And then I started hoping her killer would be found. But the days dragged on and on, and soon the story wasn’t even getting a mention on the news anymore.

But Tammy stayed with me. One of the first searches I ever did on the internet was for news about her case, to see if anyone had been caught. I still search occasionally, and I’m always disappointed to find no news.

I don’t have to remember to think about her; the memory of her comes unbidden. And it’s not that I use her to remind myself that life is precious. There was just something about the way her story fell out of the news so suddenly—one day there was an update, and the next there wasn’t, and then there never was again—that made some part of me keep her with me. And I think of her on important days—my college graduation, my wedding day—as if in some way I’m living life for both of us, since hers was taken away so abruptly on a summer day when we were both headed to college.

(Btw, in case it's not clear, it's Pazuzu's question and my answer.)