Getting Discomfortable with Murder
On Monday I peripherally witnessed a murder.
Monday morning. Blistering heat. I was waiting for the subway when I heard a loud bang and saw a flash of light as the Eastbound subway car entered the station behind me. Everyone froze. The train came to a stop as usual but the doors didn’t open. It was eerily quiet and calm. We all looked at each other. Surely it wasn’t what I think it was? The Westbound train arrived moments later and I stepped on, not sure what else to do. I didn’t want to believe it. Then the power went out and police rushed onto the platform. People started running. As they evacuated us, I kept telling myself that there must be another explanation. I heard someone say they saw a shoe. Maybe someone threw a shoe at the train? Someone else said they smelled smoke. I tried to convince myself it was just a mechanical issue. I hurried to the next working subway stop.
As I rode home, I listened closely to the crackling announcements until I heard that telltale phrase: “injury at track level”. So it was a person. I did my best not to cry in front of everyone on the train. When I got home the skies opened and started pouring rain. I tried to distract myself, but I couldn’t shake it. I didn’t know what to feel or what to do? I tried to numb it away. I binge-watched Netflix for hours. I scrolled through Twitter compulsively. The news was equally bleak: kids being taken from their parents, a musician shot and killed, space force!? At least it was a distraction.
But much like the stifling humidity, I just couldn’t escape the pain. There was no way to “make it right”, nothing I could fix, nothing I could do. I felt trapped. And then the news broke: it wasn’t a suicide, police believe the person was pushed. Pushed! Randomly. Right behind me. I retreated to my bedroom and cranked the AC. I lay on my bed and hugged my sheets. I longed for some human connection. Who could I reach out to? Who could just appear in my bedroom and make it all better? I desperately wanted someone to cuddle me.
And then my back started to feel warm. It got warmer and warmer and warmer. I finally turned around to look. The storm had cleared and the setting sun was just beginning to peek below the top of my window frame. The sunlight had quietly crept all the way across the floor of my room, up my bed frame, and along my mattress until it was right there spooning me from behind. I couldn’t help but smile a little. “Hey buddy”, I said. For some reason, the sun reminded me of a dog begging for attention. “You want me to come outside?” The sun nodded (it seemed). I got dressed and went outside. I took the sun for a stroll around the block. It was a terrible day, but in that moment I realized we still have a lot more to feel than just pain.
Originally published at Discomfortable.net
