By Roy Doron
Date: 12 February 1998

To Whom it may Concern

Everyone has his own sob story that nobody wants to hear. My name is Joel Silverburg and this is mine.

It all started 3 years ago, just after high school, I wanted to go to college but had no money, so I did what any guy without money would do – I joined the US Navy. You know, join the Navy, get fifty thou for school, see the world and have a great time. Well, it's not really true. But this really has nothing to do with the story so I'll just skip over to what really matters… Paradise.

It was the Island of Martinique; a beautiful French colony in the Caribbean, with the provincial towns of France nestled in a lush tropical rain forest with pristine beaches and wonderful coral reefs. And then there was Angelique.

She was everything, beautiful, intelligent, kind, loving, I could go on and on but there wouldn't be much point. Suffice to say that she had the body of a supermodel and the face of Princess Caroline with the mind of a Nobel Prize winner. She was perfect, and she loved me almost as much as I loved her. We met on the beach in Les Trois-'Ilets just south of Fort de France. We talked for hours and hours at a time. Every minute of every visit of my ship to that godlike island was spent with her. Just being together without a care in the world I never felt so alive and so at peace with myself before or ever again.

After I was done with the Navy I moved to Martinique to be with Angelique. I got a crappy job working as a tour guide for all these fat ugly Americans who come to the Islands in huge tour groups and gawk at everything. I couldn't really stand it but at least I was with Angelique and I was happy. I was so happy. No words could ever explain my feelings so I won't even try.

I was living in the town of Fort de France for about 2 years and already spoke pretty good French when I asked Angelique to marry me. I immediately got the reply I was waiting for and everything was just so falling into place. I never thought that I would ever belong anywhere or with anybody, being that outcast that I always was but here I was, ready to commit to the woman I knew I was meant for.

We sent out the invitations and got the date set at the beach we first met on. Things couldn't be better, right?

There was only one thing we forgot to take into account. Francois. He was Angelique's old boyfriend, who never quite accepted the fact that it was over between them, and he was the jealous type. One day as I went to pick Angelique up from work, she worked as a waitress at a Creole restaurant which catered to, who else, tourists, I saw Francois waiting outside for her. She tried to brush him away but he refused to blown off. Just as I was leaving my car to try to defuse the emotional situation I saw him leave and shout "You will be mine, or will be no one's!"

The ride home was very quiet. When we got home, however, I immediately started bombarding her with questions as to what he meant by what he said, as if you could fit some other meaning into the words.

"The man is crazy" I tried to say.

"Non, mon cheri, he is just in love with me and will never try anything stupid" came the reply.

"But he threatened you on the street that he'd harm you and I won't have it"

"He is still in love with me and does not thing from the right place now, he thinks from his heart and not from his mind. You will see, he will accept this."

Why did I have to be right?

We never spoke of that incident again, nor did we have time to. We were both much too busy working and trying to plan for our wedding. But one day it just exploded into our faces like a grease fire. Only this was much worse.

It was August 14th, and I was walking home from my much hated job at the tour company, when about two blocks from my home I noticed the telltale red and blue lights in front of my apartment building. Of course I assumed the worst but little did I know how badly my life would turn out.

"I'm sorry, but you can't come any closer" I was stopped by the Jean D'armes, the French policeman, who looked like a scene from and old vampire movie, with his cape going down to is belt line and his rounded cap.

"But I live here" I answered, "in apartment 16".

I didn't need an answer. Just by the look on his face I knew that apartment 16 was the reason they were here.

He ushered me aside o where the suit that was in charge of the investigation was interviewing witnesses. After I was introduced he dropped what he doing came straight over to me.

"There has been a terrible accident" he started to say, but when I looked over his shoulder and saw the body bag coming out of the front door I knew that my life as I knew it was over. I recognized the contours of the body that was lying on the gurney.

People react differently to tragedy. Some people cry, others get hysterical, yet other find an outlet in rage. But me, I just shut down. Bottled up all my rage and misery inside. As if to add salt to my wounds, the incompetent men of the French police let out the suspect for all to see. It wasn't really hard to imagine who it was. As he was being put into the squad car we made eye contact and for the slightest instant I could have sworn I saw a smile or a smirk on his face. That in it self tore my heart out and I have never fully recovered.

The next morning I was on a plane back to New York, and moved back in with my parents. I lasted there about three months. That's when I started drifting. I've been drifting ever since. For two years I've been on the road, not because I wanted to, but because I couldn't settle down and get to trust another place again.

So here I am in my little room in Tucson thinking of what to do with the rest of my life. I just went out to army navy store and bought a .45. That should help me decide.

Fuck it.

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