Nine months ago, I began an adventure through the streets of Boston, Massachusetts. I went to the Boston State House, ate at Cheers, and even stood on the street where the Boston Massacre ensued over 200 years ago.
I was not highly impressed. Granted, it was a sweltering 90 degrees outside with higher humidity than this Colorado native was accustomed. I wore my pink canvas shoes and a lined shirt that seemed to turn my body into lava. The city smelled faintly of fish and trash. I had begged to go, so I felt guilty complaining, but I just wanted to get to the hotel and take a nap.
As I passed a vendor, I considered buying a hoodie that said a simple BOSTON across the chest. It was only $15. "Nah," I thought. I liked Maine more. That's what I wanted to take away from the trip. I wouldn't need the hoodie.
Now, I am hardly beginning an adventure through the streets of Boston. I am beginning a droning march where every article is harder to read than the last. Every breath seems to catapult my body into a new array of emotions, a new set of fears, a new place where I shatter.
I only smelled fish and trash. The victims of the Boston Marathon bombing smell fish mixed with blood, trash mixed with mangled bodies. Spectators of the race became permanent participants of the tragedy. Participants of the tragedy became permanent spectators of the race. Chaos. Nothing makes sense. Nothing is right.
Scariest of all is that when I saw the horrific update light up my phone screen, all I saw were words. The horror was placed into a neat, giant file of "Recent Gut-Wrenching Experiences, A-Z." Aurora movie theater. Sandy Hook Elementary. The death of two close friends within a year and a day.
More than anything, I wish I would have bought that hoodie. I wish I could smell the fish and the trash strongly. I will not give into the pressure to be apathetic. I will not give into the fear of feeling. I will not catch my heart when it falls against the concrete of these excruciating experiences. This is not just a phone update. It is a call to fix wrongs and to extend compassion.
From Boston Massacre to Boston Marathon, we will remember.
