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Keeping the Memory Alive Lisa Norrell's family and friends fondly remember and cherish the keepsakes of the 15-year-old girl, one year after her murder
The time was early November, 1998. It was the last photo taken of her. A few days later, on November 6, Lisa disappeared while walking along a desolate stretch of the Antioch-Pittsburg Highway after leaving a quinceañera party. She never returned home. She was found murdered soon afterwards. Lisa’s mother, Minnie Norrell, has grown used to questions about her daughter. But sometimes the tears fall down her cheeks, as they do while she sits in her dining room with several visitors, surrounded by photos of Lisa hanging on the sun-drenched walls. The one-year anniversary of her daughter’s death is next month, and while the horror of the tragedy remains fresh -- and the person who killed Lisa remains at large -- Minnie still takes the time to discuss it with all who will listen. She hopes the public never forgets Lisa and that something similar might never befall another family. Lisa was not perfect, said Norrell, who works as a hairdresser in Walnut Creek. Like most adolescents, she gave her mother problems. But in the pictures on the wall, her smile lights her eyes and her face looks angelic.
One night, as Minnie put Lisa to bed, rubbing her back, as was their bedtime ritual, she began to tell a fairy tale about a man and a woman who were married and who didn't have any children. "One day, they saw this beautiful little girl, with dark hair and big brown eyes. They loved her so much that they decided to adopt her, meaning she could come live with them and be their daughter," Minnie told her. Little Lisa turned around to look at her mother and said, "That's a stupid story." Then she turned over and went to sleep. Minnie laughs when she tells the story. "Oh, she was adorable. When she was a kid she was happy-go-lucky. Then she became a teenager and was a brat," she said with a smile. Tony Quesada, Lisa's older brother, was adopted by a family close to the Norrells. The Quesadas live a street away from Minnie. The two families raised their children together and although the complex family tree may have confused outsiders, this arrangement allowed the siblings to be close to each other. "They grew up knowing that they were brother and sister," said Minnie. "Every time we went to the grocery store, she had to have something for her brother. And his [Tony's] dad tells me that he [Tony] did the same thing; every time they went somewhere, he had to buy something for Lisa." It was hard for Tony to have to explain their family ties to everyone. People would ask if Lisa was his half-sister. They didn't understand whose parents were whose. Tony would try to explain, but he is still frustrated with people's confusion.
"We were close," he said. "We were always best friends, brother and sister, always together. I always went over to their house, she always came over here. We were never apart." He painted a picture of the sister he remembered: "Something about her she would always do, when we would have dinner was, no matter how far away she put her drink, she would always spill it. Always." Lucretia and Patricia Smith, 17-year-old twin sisters and juniors at Pittsburg High School, knew Lisa since sixth grade. They saw Lisa blossom from a shy girl who sat in the front of the classroom drawing pictures into a gregarious teen, much like themselves. The Lisa they knew still favored sweatshirts and jeans, streaked her hair with blonde highlights, said hello to everyone, and had boundless energy -- especially when it came to talking about boys. Patricia recalled one episode: "I was in the classroom and I was starting my journal and she comes into class and she goes, 'Patricia!' and she would always tap her feet and shake her head like this [demonstrating excitement], and she would say, 'I have to tell you something!'" Patricia continued: "And she pulled me to where we’d always go, to the side corner of the room. It was Ms. Rohde’s room. And she told me, 'I like somebody in this classroom.' "'Ricky, right?' "'Yeah. How’d you know?' "'Girl, you don’t give him no air to breathe!' " Minnie learned a lot about her daughter after she died. She had assumed that Lisa was a nuisance in school because she didn’t do her homework, but Lisa's teachers spoke of a young woman who behaved herself, was supportive of others, and was very caring. "A lot of kids came up to me and told me stories about how Lisa touched their lives. And if you were having a bad day she would nag you to death until you told her what the problem was. Stuff like that. So I learned a lot about her. And I learned that she really did like school because that was her social outlet," said Minnie.
"She was outgoing, she was full of energy, she had so much going for her," said Lucretia tearfully, recalling how people who didn't know Lisa posed as her friends in front of the news cameras. "She started out as a quiet person but she built herself up," said Lucretia. "She's the kind of person who would see somebody sad and want to help them. She'd want to make sure that they're okay, she'd want to make them feel comfortable, and if they don't know nobody, she'd want to make sure that they’ve got friends, that they've got somebody to talk to." "I want to let people know that she was a very special person. And I know that we're all different and we're all special in God's way, but she had a special gift, which could have been used," said Patricia. Tony anguishes over the last time he spoke to his sister. She ran up to him asking if he'd go to the dance rehearsal with her and be her partner. "Right then I said no. Because I'm not one for dancing, right? I just thought, whatever. I wasn't into that. And I said I don't think so, and she was like, 'Come on, come on.' I was like, 'No.' So I didn't go," he said. "I can see everything about that so clearly. At least if I would have gone, I know she wouldn't ... I know she'd be here right now." Minnie shook her head. "You can’t kick yourself for that, Tony," she said softly. "It wasn't meant for you to go, babe. Wasn't meant for you to go ... "
Minnie is getting together the legal papers for Lisa's Closet, the non-profit organization she and her friends and family have put together to give new clothing to poor children.
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Lisa
Norrell's smile sparkles in the photo. The snapshot shows the 15-year-old
Pittsburg High School sophomore sitting proudly in front of the new
computer she had just bought, the one she eagerly looked forward to
using for e-mail, games, and surfing the Internet. For the summer of
1998, Lisa had toiled as a babysitter, saving up the cash for her prized
possession. Now she finally had it in her own room. 
Minnie
and her then-husband, Jesse (he died in 1996), adopted Lisa from a family
in Mexico when she was 13 months old. Minnie decided when Lisa was 5
or 6 that it was time to tell her about her origins. 
Tony
stood next to Minnie in the dining room as she spoke. The 17-year-old
high school senior wore a baseball cap that hid his eyes. When he glanced
up to speak, one could see the resemblance to Lisa: the pale skin, the
gently luminous eyes. He is as handsome as Lisa was pretty. He moved
around his second home with ease, opening the refrigerator and answering
the phone for Minnie when it rang.
When
asked what she wants people to remember about Lisa, Minnie paused for
a moment: "Things you can't describe. Like her smile. That she
was important. I don't know. I don’t know. I’m sorry ..."