It's been six months since that fateful day. Six months since I cried.

Perhaps I should start again. Alexandra Finch was no blood relation, but we've always been like brother and sister. So when she died, I think it hit me harder than anyone else. My only solace lies in the fact that she died achieving her one goal.

If there was one word to describe Alexandra, it would be driven, but she was so much more than that. Her dream was world peace, and her short-term goal was to improve conditions for the poor in our hometown of Philadelphia. As you can see, she had high aspirations, and her dream got her killed.

Once Andry got hold of an idea, she never let go. I found out about this when she was a sophomore in high school, and I thought she was insane. She'd been writing constantly in some little composition notebook, and I'd asked her what was so fascinating. I was a senior at the time, and thought myself much wiser in the ways of the world. I knew that the rich kids didn't mix with the poor kids; it was just the way things worked.

"Andry, you can't be serious!" I had exclaimed that morning.

"Why not, Jeff? What exactly is stopping me?" she'd replied, giving me the feeling she was laughing at me. She'd never had any idea of social norms.

I'd sighed, and explained to her the facts of life at Liberty High School. "This kind of thing just doesn't happen, Andry. They're poor, and that's just the way it is."

She looked at me like I'd grown another arm, and walked off to her next class, shaking her head. At lunch, she was writing in her notebook again.

Obviously, as much as she valued my opinion, that didn't deter her. She began planning and formed a little group of followers. Together, they did far more than anyone would have thought possible.

Their group, which they called Give Peace a Chance, began immediately. I was shocked at how fast Andry's crew was growing, and I wasn't the only one. Many of her classmates and mine, who had mocked her in the beginning, had now become more reserved in their criticisms. And it wasn't even restricted to the students; often I would see her talking to teachers in the halls. Once she was even called to the principal's office so Mrs. Greaves could ask about the project! Finally, I gave up my pride and joined her group.

The way their group functioned was amazing. It was democracy as Cleisthenes1 had envisioned it. Although Andry had the title of president and veto power, I never saw her use it. Each person, including Andry, had one vote, which was cast by tossing colored rocks into plastic crates labeled "yes" and "no". There were no hard feelings between members, and everything was run efficiently and harmoniously. Everyone had his or her own niche.

Although we weren't trying to be religiously exclusive, it turned out that we were all Christian, and it evolved into a kind of youth group and Bible study, as well as a charity group. We chose for our theme verse Philippians 4:13, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."

The first time our group went into the city, I was scared out of my wits. Andry later told me that she was, too, but I couldn't believe her. She walked with such confidence and self-assurance, everyone was awe-struck. We were volunteering at Fox Chase Cancer Center, in a fairly affluent neighborhood. I had no idea what we'd do once we got there, but Andry said something to the receptionist, and we were marched to the inpatient living area. We spent the entire evening entertaining the patients there. Some of us entertained the smaller children, while others sat with the elderly. Andry and I found ourselves in the room of a kid about her age. I was frozen. I couldn't talk to the guy, because all I could think of was what I would do if it were Andry in that bed instead of some stranger named Kevin. However, Andry talked enough for both of us. At the end of the visit, Andry and Kevin traded phone numbers, and we all headed home. That night, all I could see was Andry lying in a hospital bed, pale and helpless.

We visited the hospital every week after that. Kevin and Andry started going out. Some of my friends were a little careful around me about it, but I'd never thought of her as anything but a sister, and had no intention of starting now. My schedule became much busier. Besides applying to colleges and raising money for our senior class, I was working at soup kitchens, packing food boxes, and many things besides.

One meeting, someone came up with the idea of helping the homeless. And why not? They were as poor as anyone in the city. But then the inevitable question came up: How? Even the most courageous of our group squirmed a little at the idea of talking to bums in the street. However, for once I was useful. I remembered something one of my cousins had told me about. She lives in New York and also does a lot of charity work. Every Saturday, she and a few friends take sandwiches and thermoses of coffee out into the street to distribute to the homeless. I suggested the idea, and it was agreed that as long as we took proper safety precautions, the plan would work.

We got to work immediately. The treasury committee set aside a budget for food and such; the logistics and safety committees worked together to plan routes and groups of people. Andry flitted around from group to group, giving input where she thought it was needed. Things progressed quickly, and within two weeks, we were ready for our first trip.

We met at Andry's house on Saturday, and we were all a little nervous. We spent a couple of hours making sandwiches, and then we were ready to go. As we packed everything into bags, my nervousness reached a level I didn't know existed. Even worse, Andry noticed. She and I were partnered for the night, and she asked me several times as we drove to our designated section if I was okay with this. I wasn't, but I didn't let her know that.

"Jeff, if you don't want to do this, we don't have to." she'd say, noticing my hands were holding the steering wheel a little firmer than necessary.

"Andry, it was my idea. Why should I have a problem with it?" This fact, of course, did nothing to ease my apprehension, but she didn't have to know that. Luckily, she let it go after a while.

Much to my relief, everything went well. We'd walk along the street, and when we saw a bum, we'd ask him if he was hungry. As soon as he'd made sure we weren't charging anything, he'd gratefully accept. We'd chat for a little while with the ones who wanted to chat, and learned their stories. Often, they asked ours. As with the cancer hospital, it was nowhere near as frightening as I'd feared it would be. The most shocking part of the experience for me was that all these people, whom I'd always thought of as mere creatures to be pitied or ignored, were human beings, who'd once had normal lives like ours.

We scheduled Saturday as our day for this activity, and while we didn't all go out every time, we started building relationships with the people we met. Even better, relationships within the group were growing. We rotated partners once a month, so we all spent hours together just wandering the streets of Philadelphia.

As we neared the end of the school year, I had to drop a lot of the Peace events, since I was a senior. I'd been accepted to the Art Institute in Philadelphia, but I had to finish the year well and submit my portfolio for a final review.

The day after school let out, I was at a party with most of my graduating class, when my cell phone rang. Ordinarily, I would have answered at the first ring, but things had gotten a little out of hand, and I didn't notice it ringing. It was only an hour later that I left, disgusted with my former classmates. I glanced at my phone, and found that I'd missed a call from Andry. I shrugged; Andry didn't normally call my cell, but it could easily have been about a meeting. Glancing at my watch, I hurried home.

I opened my front door, ready to apologize to my mother for being so late, but she beat me to it.

"Oh, Jeff, I'm so sorry!" She was sobbing on my shoulder, and I had no idea what to do. Luckily, my father came into the kitchen at that point, and took her off my hands.

"Mom, what's wrong?" I asked, a mixture of panic and confusion growing in the pit of my stomach. If Dad was okay, there were a limited number of things that could have my mother sobbing. And at the top of that list was…Andry. "Mom, it isn't-it isn't Andry, is it?"

My dad just looked at me, and I knew it was true. "What's wrong? What happened? She was fine yesterday…" I trailed off.

Dad sighed, sat my mother down on the couch, and took me into the kitchen. "Jeff, Alexandra was out on the street tonight with one of her friends, passing out food." He paused, and I shook my head; I couldn't believe any of our friends would do anything to Andry. Seeing my look, he hastened to reassure me. "No, no, it wasn't any of your street friends. We don't actually know what happened. They were hit by a bus. The other kid, Peter, is injured, but he'll live." His phrasing hit me hard. The other kid will live? Just the other kid? Andry…not Andry. Oh God, don't let this happen, please!

"Dad, what is wrong with Andry? She's not- " I couldn't say the word, but I heard it echo through the kitchen. Dead.

"No, she's not dead, but she's seriously injured. She might not make it through the night." Seeing me about to interrupt, he hurried on. "You can't go visit her until tomorrow. It's not my rules; it's the hospital's. Why don't you go get some sleep? Visiting hours begin at eight o'clock."

I obediently went upstairs to my room, but sleep was the last thing on my mind.I couldn't get the idea out of my mind that this was all my fault. If I hadn't gone to that stupid party, I would have been the one with her. What was wrong with celebrating my graduation with Andry, instead of all my drunken classmates? I spent hours tossing and turning, falling into an uneasy sleep for a couple of hours, but waking up at dawn. I spent the next two hours just sitting in the back yard, worrying.

Arriving at the hospital after a rushed breakfast, I was escorted upstairs to Andry's room. When I walked into the room, my worst fears were realized. She was still alive, but she wasn't awake, and her heart rate was extremely slow. Her breathing sounded forced, and she was pale as death. My mind flew back to the first visit with Kevin-how all I'd been able to think of was Andry lying helpless in a hospital bed. I sat down in the chair next to her bed as Mrs. Finch came in with a cup of coffee.

"Hi, Jeff. Thank you for coming to see her." There were tears in her voice, and her words did nothing to reassure me.

"Mrs. Finch, have you talked to the doctors? Is she going to make it?" Now I could hear the tears in my own voice, and my throat was suddenly feeling very tight. The look on her face wasn't helping either. Fortunately for one of us, she was spared answering by the speedy entrance of a doctor and a nurse. Mrs. Finch and I had been so focused on our tears, we hadn't noticed Andry's heart rate monitor skyrocket, then slowly settle to a straight line.

Everyone from Give Peace a Chance attended the funeral. Afterwards, we all converged and just stood there, remembering Andry. But the next day, when we met at headquarters, we were back to work. We voted on a new president, and to my surprise, I was elected. Now for the past six months, I've been working to accomplish the goal that Andry started. I don't care how unrealistic our dream is; we'll see it through, for Andry, and we'll have God's help along the way.

fin

1 Greek founder of democracy