THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, July 2, 1995 TAG: 9507020056
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: ELIZABETH SIMPSON
LENGTH: Medium: 65 lines
The discovery of Jennifer Lea Evans' body last week propelled me 15 years into the future.
I could see my own two girls, teenagers by then, heading to the beach. They'd want to visit a few nightclubs, walk on the boardwalk, meet new people.
And I could hear myself saying ``Be careful.'' And hear them answer, ``Yeah, right, Mom,'' in that nonchalant manner that comes with the invincibility of youth.
I'll want to keep them from going, because I'll recall this 21-year-old woman who was ambitious and fun-loving and beautiful, who liked Disney movies, who wanted to be a doctor.
A woman who, according to the police version of events, let down her guard just for a minute, who met a handsome stranger, who trusted the wrong person.
When she disappeared we all tried to believe in happy endings. Maybe she'd show up with a wedding ring. Or a whirlwind tale about a night on the town.
But somewhere deep inside lurked a quiet suspicion. When she was found dead eight days later, we were shocked but not surprised.
Why does this death grip us in a way that's different from all the other, more common tragedies that people suffer? Why has this woman, just a visitor to our area, galvanized our conversations? Because she was an innocent person lost to a seemingly random, unexplained act of violence.
Her night on the town should have been just the kind of experience that makes youth exciting. The chance meetings. The conversations with strangers. The talking and laughing and getting to know someone new, someone outside one's own circle of friends.
We've all done it. Usually these meetings end in undramatic ways, with friendships or stories you talk about with your buddies over breakfast.
Only this time it seems someone out there took advantage of one woman's desire to meet someone new, to be friendly, to have a good time. If the cops' account is right, a predator sought his prey. Not for love or money or friendship or even sex, but power.
How do you warn your children against that kind of thing? How do you explain to them that there are people whose only interest is in hurting? How do you teach them to believe in the decency of people, but still know there's an animal in the dark waiting to hunt them down? How do you plant the fear of evil, and still say, ``Have a good time''?
Maybe it's why we read ``The Big Bad Wolf'' to children, over and over and over again. In the fable lies a warning that has been passed from one generation to the next: Don't be too quick to trust. Someone out there wants to hurt you.
We can't fully explain the dark side of humanity, but still, it is there. Always has been, always will be.
Maybe that's why we weren't surprised when Evans' body was found in a wooded park. We had imagined the worst.
Fortunately, such tragedies are uncommon, and we can't live our lives in fear that we'll be the next victims. We have to trust people, to reach out, to talk to the handsome stranger.
Still, in those lessons of hope and trust and living to the fullest, we remember Jennifer Lea Evans, a woman who must have believed in the basic decency of people.
Fifteen years from now, as my children disappear out the door, I will still think of her. by CNB