A Final Good-bye

It all began in the summer of 1993 with a study abroad program; a trip to St. Petersburg, Russia; and a new friend. For three weeks we shared the music and friendship; experiencing joy and knowledge of the language and music. Peter was a street musician and it was the love of music that brought us together. One night, after a pleasant evening of music and conversation, while escorting me back home to the dorm (a trip of one trolley, the Metro, and a bus), Peter was hit by a car. I never saw what happened, but I heard it and that was nightmare enough. In a matter of seconds three years of Russian disappeared and was replaced with a shaking terror of the unknown.

I was dragged away from him at the hospital both of covered in his blood having no idea of what was to come. The director's assistant deemed a cup of tea was in order back at the dorm. There was only one problem, the tea was read - blood red! A tape of Peter's music saw me, after a fashion, through the night.

We found the hospital in the light of the day, but only family was allowed in; so I still had no clue as to how he would be; with a head injury, you never really know how things will turn out.

Two days later I had to leave Russia to return to the United States not knowing Peter's fate; whether he would he be alright or not. After arriving back in the US I learned that at the age of 19 Peter had died from his injuries. It wasn't until then that I realized how close we had become.

Several weeks later Peter appeared. I knew it could not be a dream since I was working at the time. I could not make it through a single day without falling apart. It was not unusual for me to have tears running down my face behind a mask as I entertained and played with children; so it was fitting that dressed in a blue shirt and jeans Peter came to me at work.

He did not simply appear and then fade away, but stayed with me for the rest of the night at work, while I waited for the bus, and even on the bus. By the time I arrived home Peter had gone but in the time he had been at my side I remembered the music and his guitar playing. And we had the chance to do what we could not weeks ago in Russia - to say good-bye.

I have not seen Peter again, but think of him often and remember - especially when I hear the songs of The Beatles.