Anastasia would be 32 now. She would have had her heart broken a number of times, and likely would have broken a few hearts herself in that time. She probably would be married, or married and divorced, or married, divorced, and re-married by today. She would have a child, probably of school age, perhaps two children by now. She’d have finished college eight or nine years ago and be currently working a steady job. She’d be politically active, giving money to causes of her choice, and possibly working to promote them.Her old boyfriend from 1997 would be a long-faded memory to her, and many of her other acquaintances of that same summer would now serve as embarrassing reminders of a misspent youth. She’d have long since moved far from here, probably living on the west coast. She would have by now have traveled Europe, looked from the observation deck of the Eiffel Tower, strolled through Westminister Abbey, seen the Mediterranean from Gibralter, and would have shouted a few bawdy Latin verses from inside of Rome's Colosseum. She’d be happy with her life, or at least satisfied with it.
This is all speculation, of course, because Anastasia died 14 years ago. Anastasia was murdered on October 22, 1997 by a former classmate of hers for no better reason than the thrill of killing someone. That person is doing life without parole, but still has the freedom to slander his accusers, and even to slander his victim. We have justice, but not closure.
But enough of her killer, who does not deserve to have his name mentioned in these pages. Anastasia would be 32 years old at this time, and October 22 would hold no significance to her as an anniversary. She would be an adult with her own problems and joys, failures and successes. We cannot say with any certainty that she would be exceedingly happy or successful by this time, but we know that she would still be alive to make her choices and to accept their consequences, and that all our lives would be richer for her presence.
But we’ll never know. She died 14 years ago. She is fourteen years gone, and this is a sad, sad anniversary.
Ave Atque Vale, Anastasia.
