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This will be explained as the story goes on.Mr. Martin picked me up at nine am. It took us a little over an hour toget to where we were going, nowhere...near a lake, river or anyplace youwould fish.We went to a friend of his, Mr. Williams. Larry Williams, who had adaughter Betty, my age. As soon as we got there we both went to changeclothes. I went right to Betty's room and looked through her closet anddressers; I pulled out a complete outfit, something that would go betterwith my new persona,. He was about to push the doorbell button when he thought he heard moaning. He stood there, listening. The sounds he was hearing weren’t moans of pain. Puzzled, he walked quietly across the deck to the big sliding glass doors that opened into his father’s bedroom. The three people inside the condo were unaware they had an observer who was staring at them, shocked at what he saw. Ricky couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Lisa Dutille, one of his classmates, was on her knees on his father’s bed. I was a child not only in age but also in emotional development. I could sing; I could even dance a little. But the songs I wrote were one-dimensional. They lacked the depth to truly be called well-written. One of the luckiest days of my life is the day I was introduced to this year’s recipient of the Milestone Achievement in Songwriting Award.“Jake Ellicott taught me how to write. He taught me the difference between a catchy hook and a tired cliché. He helped me grow up and he, more than any. I just can't take it. I really can't!"Suddenly Julie noticed a butter knife coming through the door jam, heard a little noise and next thing the door was open. Julie should have known better, she had taught Karen how to do that for when people accidentally locked the door and closed it behind them. Julie just sat there crying as Karen entered the room. But instead of being her normal teasing self, she sat down next to Julie on the floor and grabbed her close. This was just like her mother had.
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