I saw a dead body Saturday evening, and I just can't seem to shake the image from my mind. Oh, it's not the first time I've seen death -- in fact, I've seen it up close and personal more times than I care to admit. But this was somehow different...

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I am on my way to dinner at a fancy restaurant with some of my upscale friends, and I'm running late as usual, when up ahead in my lane I see flashing blues that have just come to a screeching stop. Not wanting to become part of the traffic stop/wreck, I quickly brake and move to the right-hand lane, as do the two cars immediately ahead of me. As we creep by the scene, I see there is only one car involved, and the officer is assessing the driver of that SUV. While my mind wonders if it were a hit-and-run, I glance over, and that's when I see him -- a young black male lying face down, half in the street and half in the grass of the median. My immediate thought is to slam on my brakes, pull off the side of the road and run to this boy. But something registers in my brain and tells me it is too late -- he is already dead, isn't he? That's why no one is attending to him, isn't it?

But why didn't I stop? Sure, the cop was flagging every car forward impatiently, trying to clear the scene for the impending arrival of other officers, an ambulance which surely must be on it's way... but why didn't I stop? I'm not one to blindly obey orders if I think they're wrong, so why did I pull away as the officer was beckoning me to do? Someone needed to be there for him, to pluck the grass from his hair, to hold his hand, to caress his face one last time... Oh God, why didn't I stop?

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Dinner was an enjoyable affair -- great food, fine wine, and stimulating conversation. But my thoughts kept wandering back to that scene on the side of the road. So I drank a little too much, talked a little too much, and tried to shake the image from my mind of a young black man, lying lifeless, face down in the edge of the street.

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His name was Damon Donelson, and he was 15 years old. A solid student at Hillsboro High School and an all-around good kid, his grandmother trusted him enough to take the city bus to the East side where he was to get together with some friends. When he didn't return home that evening, his grandmother began to worry, but quelled her fears by thinking he must be staying with friends. When she was unable to reach him the next day after repeated attempts, his grandmother knew something was wrong. Deep in her bones, she knew something had happened to Damon.

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It took Metro police 3 days to make the connection between the missing persons report filed by Damon's grandmother, and the young man with no identification and a dead cell phone who was struck and killed by an SUV on Saturday night as he attempted to cross the parkway.

I guess we'll never know what made Damon run in front of an oncoming car at dusk on a beautiful Saturday night in October. Maybe it was the feeling of invincibility we all suffered through at that age. Whatever the reason, it will be a long time before I forget the sight of this young man, lying lifeless in the road. But I want to remember Damon Donelson, in the hopes that next time, I'll stop.

a strange night...

October 27th, 12:58

Let me begin by making the proclamation that Benadryl is a wonder drug. What prompted the rave review, you might ask? Allow me to recount the strange happenings of last night, and I'll see if you concur.

Yesterday was my day off, and instead of being productive in any way, shape or form, I spent the day piled up in bed, reading a wonderful writer I've discovered on LJ: snuffnyc. Her R&I fanfics are absolutelystellar, so I had to go back and read everything in order so as to be caught up for the next installment. Hey, I've got my priorities straight. OK, "straight" might not be the best choice of words, but I digress... About 11pm I called it a night, closed the Mac and drifted into peaceful sleep. Upon returning to bed after my 3am bathroom foray, I noticed that the palms of my hands were itching incessantly. And not just any ol' itch -- I'm talking "claw 'til you've drawn blood" kinda itching. After several minutes of this, the itching has spread to the soles of my feet. OK, this is getting kinda ridiculous. I can handle hand to hand combat, but now I've got 2 more appendages clamoring for my attention? This. Will not do.

I next progressed to palms and soles are blood red, fingers are swelling, along with elevated heart rate and rapid, shallow breathing, although I attribute these last 2 to dancing around my bedroom, stomping my feet on the hardwood floor. Hey, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do, and the feet were late to the party. At this point, I'm looking for answers, so Google to the rescue. Newsflash: I'm suffering an allergic reaction of some sort. Wow, tell me something I don't know already. At this point, it's after 4am and I'm at a loss.

Time to call in the reinforcements. "Mom? Hope I didn't wake you, but I've got a problem." I then recounted the aforementioned symptoms, and she calmly tells me to get dressed and walk down to her place so she can see me. Living 2 doors up from Mom can be trying at times, but I've come to the conclusion one never gets so old as to stop needing Mom when they're sick. After a quick quizzing, Mom pronounces, "allergic reaction. Benadryl and call it a night." Hmmppfff... who needs Google when they've got Dr. Mom at their disposal?

I've now slept about 6 hours, I'm fuzzy from the drugs and I still itch a little, but this, I can manage. I'm now off to my house to investigate the cause of last night's histamine hysteria. Calling Rizzoli and Isles...