52

12/25/1993




Christmas was not the same, well of course it wasn't. Matt was dead. There is very little that I remember between christmas and my talk with Nasha. I do not remember what my parents bought me for Christmas, nor what my brother splurged on. I just wanted to return to Memphis and try to push everything from my mind. I know that sounds cruel but it is how i deal with things sometimes. I was in a daze on Christmas.



12/26/1993



Nasha told me today that Matt's family is refusing to display the Jamaican colors on Matt's coffin. At his wishes, the colors red, green and yellow were to be displayed in swathes of material draped across his coffin at his funeral. His family was protesting his wishes and Nasha was fighting with them. I stood with her and ended up crying in frustration over the whole situation.



12/27/1993



I didn't attend the funeral, I wasn't welcome. I don't even know if I would have wanted to go in the first place. I just lay in my room, stretched across my bed and daydreamed about what he looked like. By the time night fell, I was sleeping, sleeping in my funeral clothes, just what I had planned to wear, not wear...i am confused and angry and...



2/291993



I received a strange phone call today. A lady evangelist called me and was interested in my artwork. she told me that the youth group wished for me to work with them in designing some logos for the church. I was excited, I had always wanted to get noticed for my talents. She said that she wanted to meet with me in town to discuss what she had in mind. I still had a couple days at my parents house, so I agreed to meet with her and talk about my work.



I drove about 15 miles. It takes about that long to travel to the closest store from my parents house. I recognized the discription that the lady had given me on the phone and I smiled at her. My heart beat fast in anticipation of telling her about my work. Maybe for that moment, I was full of myself.



When I shook her hand, her smile dropped. She looked at me for the longest time before reaching back into her car and withdrawing a stack of papers. She spoke, and I will forever remember her words.



"Sherrie, I didn't really want to meet with you to discuss your artwork." she spoke sternly and frowned.



Then she handed me a stack of papers and spoke again.



"Do you recognize these?" she questioned.



I looked down at the papers and recognized my own writing. I flipped through at least twenty pages of my own scribble, poetry and doodles. They were my letters, letters that I had written Nasha. Then in the back of the stack were the letters I had written to Matt. Neither of them had known about either one. I looked from the lady evangelist and back to the stack of papers. I gulped hard and felt the knot float downward in my throat.



"These are my letters, letters to Nasha and Matt...and here, in the middle, these are Matt's lyrics to his songs." I looked at her with a mixture of anger and curiosity. Why did she have these? This was an invasion of privacy.



"Why do you have my letters?" I asked and held them out for her to see. "why, what is this?"



She frowned and exhaled deeply. "Sherrie, you are being investigated for the murder of Matt feldman. I have been sent to speak with you first. The Federals will speak with you soon, maybe...unless of course, I tell them that I think you are innocent."



I couldn't speak.