I don’t want churn national news, but when it comes to the Casey Anthony verdict, I can’t help thinking, a little bit, about “Cinco de Mayo” – the novel, not the holiday. For those who aren’t familiar with the premise, go get a copy and read it. No, seriously, it’s a good book. It starts like this: Everyone around the world suddenly shares complete memories with someone else. Names, languages, first kisses and what you had for dinner the previous night. Everyone gets an “Other”, an ultimate pen pal.
And I really wish Casey Anthony had an Other, like in the book. I can’t stand the vagaries of her story. It’s incomplete and I’m fearing it will remain that way, along side Jon Benét Ramsey’s tale, for ever. Were this a novel, it couldn’t be published. Too infuriating. It wouldn’t even make a good cautionary episode of “Law and Order”. People like stories. That’s why everyone made up his or her own as the trial proceeded. And why everyone’s so frustrated now. The story didn’t work.
It’s too bad we don’t have an Other – or an author – to provide more insight, to sew this all up into a package. Not a nice one - that was never going to happen – but at least something tight. Something done. Sometimes, sadly, fiction is better than real life.
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