A week ago Sunday, we were heading to bed and heard a bang.
Bang. Bang. Idiots.
Why do these people around here insist on setting fireworks off randomly throughout the year?? WHY?! That was followed by "
great, now we'll have to deal with the dog all night." Strangely, the large furry beast of a dog seemed fine, unusual for her, as she usually uses fireworks as some latent excuse to be needy. Then later we heard unrelated sirens around, which rarely happens. Ambulance, fire, police, like we know the difference, but sirens aplenty from unplaced directions interrupted our intended sleep. We ended up closing the windows. We couldn't get over how long they went on, and somehow, we both drifted off to sleep anyway.
I awoke the next morning to explanations. I had a text from Mister Man. Apparently he had a detour that morning as our street was blocked with news crews and police tape. By the time The Redhead and I walked to school, only the news crews were still around. Two vans blessed us with their presence. People knowing where we lived suddenly contacted me. They acted concerned, but I felt they were mostly curious of answers or discovering what I knew. Had I known anything, I still wouldn't have shared, as I hate gossip and nosiness. I also despise being contacted only when people want something.
By evening, the house diagonally across us at the corner, a house that went on the market shortly after we bought ours, a house we probably wouldn't have minded owning, had new additions to their landscaping project. There were candles and posters and flowers. As though it wasn't traumatizing enough that the night before a body of a teenager was found shot in their yard, now they had strangers gathered holding a vigil, leaving souvenirs in their yard, writing in marker all over the sidewalk in front of their home.
Also, I am indeed curious how fireworks can freak out our beast of a dog but gunshots seem reasonably fine. I suppose she did come originally from a trailer park, but really???
We've managed to keep from learning most of the details, as we aren't those sorts of people. We're not the people standing near the aftermath of a wreck. We're not people who watch reality television. We don't gawk when people argue in the store. We don't get off on train wrecks. We're selfish people who keep walking, keep doing what we're doing, as though nothing is going on. We're those people. And we prefer it that way.
Out of all the things from this ordeal, what has bothered me the most isn't the details surrounding a dead teenager, gunshots, or even the news crews. What gets me is that people can write all over the sidewalk in ink, permanent marker, in wax. They can line the edge of someone's yard with candles, in a dry climate mind you, during a drought. They can have dozens of glass containers that get knocked over with the wind and shatter on the sidewalk. They can keep coming by and rearrange the posters and flowers. Whenever they want. They can light more candles. And they can do this without it being called vandalism. Perhaps I'm being petty, but I just don't understand it. When my father died, the last thing I ever wanted was to be standing where he died. In fact, I spent years trying to avoid that place. It's not the same thing, but it still confuses me.
We live in a decent neighborhood and I suppose things happen. It's a tragic event, especially for the boy's family and the homeowners. And even though their yard now looks like nothing ever happened, I'm sure the family of the boy will never be the same. I'm sure the homeowners are still getting over it. They may never. What have we gotten out of this? That we're really glad we never looked out the window or front door that day and went on to bed.
