May 8 is a date that lives forever in my memory. Every year when this date rolls around, I can't help but think about two classmates who died in 1985. I couldn't make sense of it then, and -- 22 years later -- I can't make sense of it now.

The girls -- Denise and Dawn -- went to the same Jr. High school that I did and we belonged to the same clique of kids (namely, the bad ones). I knew of them and had talked to them, but they weren't my good friends or anything. And, yet, their death was monumental in my life.

All this time has gone by and I have lost all my grandparents, a cousin, some friends, my sister-in-law -- all people I was much closer to and, yet, I don't remember the date of any of their deaths.

But, the date of Denise and Dawn's death is forever etched into my memory. Maybe it's because we feel things so much more deeply when we're that young. I was 13.

They were, reportedly, walking home from detention after school. Traveling along the train tracks and were both struck and killed by a train. The rumors, and gory details, instantly began to circulate. How could they have not heard the train? How could they have not felt the train? Did the driver blow the horn? Was it suicide? Was it a terrible game of guts gone very bad?

We'll never know. And, I suppose that's why every May 8 I wonder about them. What they might have become. Who they might have been. If they'd have had a family. If they meant to die that day.

There's just no closure.

Just a couple of pine trees planted near the place they died. The once tiny pine trees have grown tall and wide. They've grown so large they are touching each other now, crowding out the boulder below them that holds the plaque that explains why they are there.

... but can't possibly explain why Denise and Dawn are gone.