‘Hello,’ I said a bit to loud and winced at my own awkwardness. ‘Hey. Michelle?’ His voice was deep and husky with a soft southern accent that...was mellow instead of the nasal twang of Tennessee I was used to. ‘Hey,’ I said more softly almost dreamily before all but snapping out, ‘yeah, um its me.’ I swallowed more nervous laughter and bit my lip so prevent any further word vomit. ‘It’s wonderful to finally hear your voice. I’m really glad you let me call you.’ ‘It’s nice to hear yours too. I. I am known simply as Jen. The story I'm going to tell you took place more than forty years ago in the summer of 1963. I remember what happened, although some specifics have dimmed with time, but I still have my detailed diaries for that decade to which I can refer for most of those specifics. My diaries started at age five. I still keep one daily.I had just turned twenty-three in February of that year and I bought the car in the last week of April. What a car it was, too. It's a shame I didn't. More

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