when you're older, you will understand.

i remember lying on the couch, with a washcloth on my forehead

to help a migraine that was too intense for my seven-year-old self to handle,

watching the news. princess diana had died.

i remember the anchors going on and on, saying the same things.

it was such a huge deal.

i remember being annoyed, hearing it all repeated over and over.

maybe i was cranky, a side-effect of the migraine,

or maybe i just didn't get it.

i remember wondering, out loud, "what's the big deal?

i know she was famous, but she's dead now."

i don't remember my mom's response, but it didn't matter.

i didn't understand anyway.

on friday, a dj on the radio was talking about michael jackson
and caleigh, the soon-to-be fourth grader T watches,

came in my room and asked, "why is michael jackson on everything?

i mean, i know he was famous and all, but he's dead."

i don't remember what i said to her, but it doesn't matter.

she doesn't understand anyway.