August 12, 1963, was a typically hot, muggy day. Bobby and I were practicing a new tap dance routine for a TV amateur competition show. Mrs. Mauer said we were “pure harmony.” I practiced in front of my mirrored closet until I wore myself out. Mom bragged about my natural talent. And Bobby bragged about his to anyone who would listen. “Look at me! I’m a great dancer too.” He was ten. Later Mom and I were eating lunch. All was quiet. She never spoke while she ate, said it was rude. Bobby and his friend Timmy, who lived two…