That weekend.....

The third day...
That was Sunday which was normally a lazy day and strangely, the feeling was similar on that particular day. We were all tired and irritable. The chapel was crowded. Long dark cars deposited stony-faced priests. The hunky Italian priest came but he failed to fill our teenage hearts with the customary lust. We were unmoved.
After a calorie laden pancake breakfast ,most of us headed back to the dorms. Mary came over because she said her parents were driving her crazy. She convinced me to go to the smoker to see Oswald be moved to..from..jail to prison or something like that. I admit I was a bit fascinated-morbid or not.
He was being escorted by a veritable crowd of police in the basement parking lot. Suddenly we saw several flashes and heard a "pop pop" sound. It looked and sounded like little kids playing cops and robbers. Something so shocking takes awhile to sink in properly. Oswald was dead.
All I remember of Jack Ruby was his white hat. As for my fellow dorm mates, there were no screams or yells, just loud gasps of shock or surprise. We were all too drained. I didn't watch the funeral on TV-was it Monday? Instead I viewed it later.
Life got back to normal fairly soon. It tends to do that when you're young.
It was the worst weekend ever. But its just an anniversary now.