DISCLAIMER:
These stories are inspired by Felicia’s colorful 2017. If the reader prefers, the short stories/blogs or parts of it may be regarded as fiction. But as Ernest Hemingway said, there is always the chance that fiction may throw some light on what has been regarded as fact.
The One With The
Boston Marathon
I am hoping you have read some of my past blogs
already. Otherwise, you may be lost in this one. For some background, I
suggest to read blog entry, “The One When I Spent My First Weekend
in Hartford" and also, “The One When I Was Plan B” and “The One With The Black Panther.”
I have not posted in more than
two weeks. Although I have 4 barely there drafts waiting, including one guest
blog and one compilation from “research” (sort of), I couldn’t get myself to continue
with my writing. Somehow, I was waiting
for a sign to tell me which blog to complete. I also woke up to one text
message from John this week. Not a good
one, I must say, but maybe good enough material for writing, or maybe not.
I realized how my last 3 blogs ("The One When I was a Trumpster," “The One With My Dating Profile- A Short Read,”” "The One With Thurgood Marshall") somehow had
a common theme of antipathy and sarcasm. It was quite draining to read them
back-to-back that I didn’t want to write another one with the same
thought. I can’t seem to find my “muse” lately.
At dinnertime yesterday, Brian asked our guests if anybody was
going to watch the Boston Marathon tomorrow. I knew tomorrow is Patriot’s Day,
but I totally forgot about the marathon. Thank you, Brian! I got my writing
mojos back!
The One With The
Boston Marathon
On the fifth anniversary of the day of the 2013 Boston
Marathon Bombing that left three dead and more than 260 wounded, I
reflect on Boston’s
most celebrated rites of spring that transformed a scene of cheers and triumph
to one of cries and carnage.
It was April 15, 2013 around 3:30pm, I was 3rd in
line at a cash register with my overfilled grocery cart waiting for Samantha to
come back from aisle 7, when my phone rang.
John:
Honey, where are you? Where are you? (with some panic tone in his voice)
Felicia:
I’m at the grocery store. What’s up?
John:
You need to go home! I just heard about the bombing at the Boston Marathon! Are
you in Boston?
Felicia:
What bombing?! I’m at the store near my house. What’s going on?
John:
Thank God! A couple of bombs exploded near the finish line of the marathon, and
I know how close your office building is to that place. I got scared.
Felicia:
Oh no! I can hear people here talking about it now. Oh my God!
John:…
Felicia:…
John:
Where’s Brian? Samantha? Did anybody go to Boston for the marathon?
Felicia:
No. Brian’s home and Samantha is here with me. We’re about to pay.
John:
Please go home now. Go straight home. I will call you later.
Felicia:
Okay. I’ll call you when we get home. I love you.
John:
I love you too. Be safe. Now go home.
We were about 11 miles from Boston at that time, but like
everyone else, I was ill at ease. At the same time, as selfish as it may
sound, I was still feeling moved and special,
that “someone” was so worried about me. I never had that feeling before.
As the oldest sibling and a single mom of two, I always was the one who checked
up on people and made sure everything was okay. Of course, many family and
friends checked on me as well, but John’s concern was different.
For the rest of the day, we stayed home. Our TV and computers
were on all night. Social media started posting eerie and heartbreaking photos.
John and I were either texting or talking on the phone. Just hearing his voice
made me feel more safe. I liked how he made me feel like I needed someone. I
liked that he made me feel I did not need to be alone anymore, that someone
is checking on me every now and then.
The next morning, I woke up to the news that the entire city was in lockdown as police searched for the suspects
in the bombings. For five days, the unthinkable became
routine in Boston. With reinforcement from different
cities and states, police and agents mounted the largest manhunt in New
England’s history while dissecting its most complex crime scene.
I also remember this time, 5 years ago, I was hosting Omar, a
nice young scholar from Saudi Arabia who came to Boston to learn English. He
had been staying with us for about year. My family and I grew fond of him.
Brian and Mohammed played video games every night, and then basketball or
soccer in the weekends. Three days after the bombing, Omar and Brian wanted to
go to Boston and check out downtown. Like any curious young man, they wanted to
see the bombing site with all the police activity and the frenetic media. It
took me a while to convince Mohammed to stay home, especially because police
were doing extensive security checks and were targeting young Middle Eastern
men. He said, “Ms. Felicia, but I’m just a student and they won’t find anything
on me anyway.” My response was, “I know
that Omar, but there is a good chance that they will check you and right now, they’re
doing it aggressively. TV shows random people being handcuffed and searched
from head to toe. I don’t want you to have that experience.” Thankfully, these two teenagers listened and
stayed home until the city lockdown was over.
Almost two weeks after the marathon, metal barriers around
the bomb site were still up, but business was almost back to normal including at
my job. During my lunch break, I walked two blocks from my building to Copley
Square where piles of shoes, race bibs, T-shirts, flowers, banners,
letters, balloons and stuffed animals
lined the metal barriers. I saw and felt the outward expression of the city's
grief. I wrote a peace dedication on this huge One Boston poster, “from John,
Felicia, Brian, Nadine, David and Samantha” and sent a picture of it to John.
As I searched for old emails from John and images for this post, (I’m actually glad
some escaped the “delete” button), I stumbled upon old Facebook messages from
2014-2016. Knowing what I know now, I found messages that were just so strange
to read. It’s almost like I was reading exchanges from two people who did not
exist at all.
I found a ton of good morning, good night, I love you and I miss you messages like…
Felicia...
John..
|
I found many
links to articles like…
John...
Felicia... |
I found many relationship
quotes like…
Felicia
John
I am in love with you. And not afraid to show it
|
I found many messages
with links to songs like…
John
Attachment Unavailable (Sent a link to the song “A Thousand
Years”)
Felicia
I love the song. Lets practice!
John
Yes!! I don't know the words yet but let's get to it
Felicia
After you submit your Loyola University application. It’s due
next week!
John
Hmmmmmmmmm
|
And links to videos like...
John...
Felicia... |
And messages about our future plans…
John
Felicia...
|
And here’s one of many exchanges at a time when
all we fought about was why it took so long for the other to respond back to a text message or a phone call…
John
Text my work phone!.
My other one is dead
Felicia
Nope. you text me
John
Nope!
I did and u didn't respond!!
Twice
Felicia
But I did!!
|
And then there were comforting messages like…
Felicia
John...
|
And many messages with photos...
John...
Felicia.. |
When I wrote “The One with Jersey Boys: Valentine 1,” I admitted
that was painful to write, and that my friend Karol would say, “At least you
have good memories of him.” But then, this is the same man who was recorded by a
scheming woman repeatedly saying how incompatible we were and how he never
loved me. ” Well, I know this looks like another painful stroll down memory lane, but I must say,
it wasn’t that bad! This must be a good sign. As I write, I felt like I just
see my past with him as good writing material.
In the rabid social media traffic that followed the Boston
Marathon bombing,
a photograph of Martin Richard, the innocent 8-year old boy killed on that horrific
day of April 2013 emerged and went viral. It was a photo of Martin holding a
poster he created in 2012 that reads “No More Hurting People. Peace” This quote became an international emblem of
that day’s tragedy. How befitting is
this to what I am feeling right now.
Fast Forward to
today, April 2018…
In the beginning of
this blog, I wrote, “I have not
posted in more than two weeks.” In
addition to not having my mojos, I was actually busy with work and with another
interview at another university in Boston, where I bumped into Omar. Omar is
now 24 years old and a dentistry student at this university! I can still remember
him as this slightly scrawny kid asking me to help him with his English. We
didn’t get to chat much as he was running late to class and I was being given a
tour of the school by a “future colleague.” What a delightful week, indeed!
And now, this is the 2:00pm CBS news headline…
"For the first time in 33 years, an American has won the
Boston Marathon. It was a rainy, gloomy day for the runners, but Desiree
Linden took the women's race Monday with a time of 2 hours, 39 minutes
and 53 seconds."
To my readers… As sad as these may all
sound, remember that my blog’s title is Bye Felicia, Hello Life. The “Hello
Life” parts will be blogged
about, (some are already in “The One With The Piano” and “The One With The Summer Surprises.”) But
as writer Octavia Butler said, “ You don't start
out writing good stuff. You start out writing crap… thinking
it's good stuff, and then gradually, you get better at it.”
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Comments
Great post and please keep writing!