2002-12-03 10:48 a.m. The last time I saw my cousin, she taught me how to drive the tractor. I didn't know then why I'd waited so long to learn. The tractor had been there at the Cabin my entire life and I was the only one of the cousins left that didn't know how to drive the thing. Out of all of us, Jo was the expert. She knew exactly how much throttle and clutch to give the thing; she could make that Deere sing. Ok fine, she crashed it into a tree once, but it really wasn't her fault and the bruises, however fierce, healed quickly. As I sat in the seat and she stood on the running board, I couldn't figure out why I'd waited so long. I know now that my little driver's ed session was the last thing Jo had to teach me. I guess I didn't want my education to end. She was seven years older than me. When you're 14 and she's 21, that seems like a lifetime. When you're 14 and don't have too many friends, sometimes you need to be shown that you can find the answers and the questions all on your own. When I needed her the most, Jo would roll up the driveway in the her Mustang and take me for a drive. It didn't matter where we went, that was never the question. What mattered was that we talked, that I was out of the house. She taught me to explore, she taught me to wonder. Over the years, I learned that finding the answers didn't matter - it was finding the right questions that was important. As the years went on, Jo got married and we saw less and less of her. She lived close by, but her husband was jealous of her close relationship with her family. Sometimes he wouldn't let her spend time with us. The last time I saw her, we were both bored and had nothing to occupy our time. I told her that I was ready for my tractor lesson. She joked about me waiting so long, I joked about her remembering how to drive the thing. Had I known it would be my final lesson, maybe I would have taken a picture or something, maybe I wouldn't have wanted to do it. Some things are better left undone. A week ago Sunday, Jo was shot once in the head and once in the chest and killed by her husband. They were fighting. They were fighting because she wanted a divorce. And I know now that the tractor was my final lesson, or at least the final lesson she'll have taught me in person. I cannot handle her death. I simply lack the capacity to wrap my thoughts and my emotions around this thing. More than once I've tried. I've stopped looking for answers. Perhaps there are none. But I go on, searching for the questions on lessons yet to be learned. downtown----uptown leave me a note, fool!

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