A Mark on the Map
“It left a bit of a mark on my mind…”
In March of 2018, my hometown was ranked as the 3rd safest city in the US. It was a small village—the home of a thousand oaks and nuclear families. The rolling hills would go from green to yellow with the seasons. A Boney Mountain watched over us in the distance. A reminder that there were Greater Powers in the world than us.
It was a quiet town that never changed.
On the morning of November 8th, 2018, I woke up in my studio apartment in Boston, later than usual due to an unusual night terror. I looked down at what felt like an endless sea of messages and a dozen missed calls. One of many from my very best friend read,
I know you’re still asleep, but promise me the first thing you’ll do this morning is call me. And whatever you do, DO NOT open social media. Call me first.
As I wiped the sleep from my eyes, I hit call — she asked me if I had checked the news, to which I said, “No, I’m just getting up. I had a night terror last night. But I have 100 people texting me, here for you, and asking if my parents are alright? What is going on?”
She hesitated, “Babes… something happened in your hometown… I don’t really know how to say it… Just promise me you won’t go on social media until you check the news and talk to your parents.”
As I opened up multiple news sources, as my one semester in journalism taught me about cross-referencing, time stood still. Seconds felt like hours as I stared at my laptop's screen.
GUNMAN K*LLS 12 PEOPLE AT COUNTRY MUSIC BAR
CALIFORNIA SHOOTING K*LLS 12 AT COUNTRY MUSIC BAR, A YEAR AFTER LAS VEGAS
It was everywhere—front and center. With footage of a setting I knew all too well, capturing classmates I had celebrated coming-of-age milestones with and had taken photography class with. They were running for their lives, trying to save one another.
My hands shook as I dialed the house phone. For the first time in my adult life, I prayed to a higher being that my parents would pick up. Four rings sounded like eons.
When I heard my dad’s voice with my mom in the background, I let out the breath I did not know I was holding.
The story was on a constant loop, every news outlet in the country, every person I knew, and every person I didn’t, shouting on social media—
ANOTHER ADDED TO THE LIST!
BE ON THE RIGHT SIDE OF HISTORY!
The lives of friends, family, and classmates were sold to the public for the unrelenting news cycle, sensationalized on social media to push both political party agendas. It felt cruel and violating to be used to prove a point. The truth was, it didn’t matter what side of the fence you stood on. If the 3rd safest city in the country could fall to gun violence, it could happen anywhere, at any time, to anyone in the States.
And then hours later, the wildfires came— Woolsey—the worst recorded fires in the region up until that point. The village didn’t even have time to grieve. And the news cycle doubled down. And the users on social media continued to shout at each other, waving the tragedy of my town as if it were a prize of proof.
In less than 24 hours, right before our eyes, in front of the world to see, the American Dream was up in flames, hours after it had been shot down. In a town that never changed, until the day it did.
What does one do when the world stops? Where does one go when home isn’t an option? Personally, I fled to my cousin in New York with my best friend. Where life continues moving, and the city always changes. Standing in line for The Color Factory, we looked up and asked,
“What color do you think your aura is?”
A Love Letter by Michelle Lee
Written with Honey
