In the Summer of 1999, I had just been ghosted by my girlfriend. As soon as we both headed home from OSU, she just stopped returning my calls. With my plans of Summer romance curtailed, I channeled the hurt and confusion into exercise, pledging to return to Stillwater yolked up in a way that would make her question why she’d given up on me. Or something, it wasn’t a well-crafted plan.
It was with that goal in mind that I got in my car that late July afternoon and while driving down my parents' street toward my gym, I saw a team of officers carrying the largest guns I’ve ever seen outside of a movie. The sight of a Red Ryder bb gun is enough to make me feel physically ill, so I did not do the looky-loo thing that many in my position would try. Instead, I continued my path to the Northside Y and tried to put it out of my mind.
About an hour later I was taking a break between sets to casually watch the Wheel of Fortune episode being shown on one of the televisions in the cardio area. Just as someone was about to solve the puzzle, the local news broke into programming, something that usually only happens if a tornado is on the way. Instead, it was an announcement that the OKC Police had issued a request for information on the whereabouts of Julius Darius Jones.