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Suddenly, Jack burst into my room,"Bobbie Kennedy's been shot."It was June 6, 1968; the presidential campaigns were in full swing, the democrats fighting to see who was going to be their nominee to replace Lyndon Johnson. I should have remembered, Kennedy had just won in California and had just finished his speech, when he was shot leaving the room by Sirhan Sirhan. I knew. I could have stopped it. But I didn't. I couldn't; I couldn't warn anyone, I couldn't change history by that magnitude. Who would have believed me anyway? I hadn't even told my own family. I'd just have to suffer in silence. I cried myself to sleep that night.Two weeks later, I came down the stairs in my best dress, and low heeled shoes. I didn't want to overpower Todd. He stood in the living room, a corsage in hand, dressed in tan slacks, and a blue blazer. He looked really good. Mom helped him pin the flowers on my dress. Dad took some pictures and out the door we went. Todd's father was waiting in the car and.

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