The night had turned eerily quiet as I left the movie theater with my friends. We had just watched “The Exorcist,” and the atmosphere outside was laden with suspense. The dimly lit parking lot, shrouded in an almost surreal silence, contrasted sharply with the adrenaline-fueled conversations about the movie. Three of us stood huddled, jokingly teasing one friend who wasn’t a fan of horror films. The tension in the air was palpable, but we were blissfully unaware of what was about to unfold.
A car pulled into the lot, driving slowly and suspiciously, like a scene from a horror movie itself. I couldn’t resist making a dark-humored comment, suggesting that a serial killer might be after us. We watched in amazement as the car circled the parking lot, its headlights piercing the darkness. It felt like an episode from a thriller, and then the moment of realization hit us like a punch to the gut – it was the police.
The car with the spotlights turned on and circled the parking lot, growing closer to the theater entrance. We watched in confusion as the police tried to enter the theater, but the doors were locked. An employee, a friend of one of my companions, came to the door and let the officer in. In just a few minutes, the officer left, laughing. We were still puzzled, texting friends to check on them.
Then, in those surreal moments, we learned about the mass shootings that had taken place only about an hour away from our quiet, sleepy town. The information started to pour in, and our peaceful state and its close-knit communities were shaken to their core. The shock was indescribable, and as we processed the news, our group dispersed, each of us heading home.
The drive home was marked by an uneasy feeling in my stomach that seemed to intensify with each passing mile. The roads, usually alive with activity, had turned eerily deserted, adding to the sense of disquiet. It was as if the weight of recent events had cast a shadow over the entire journey, leaving me in contemplative silence.
I live next door to a recreation center, much like the one where the shootings occurred. My building was dark and unlit, while theirs was illuminated by the flashing red and blue lights from police and ambulances.
Returning home, I felt unwell, a blend of emotions and tension churning in my stomach. I took my dog out for her final walk of the night, and the silence was profound. We strolled in silence, my thoughts consumed by recent events. creating a stark contrast that mirrored the sense of shock and disbelief in the town. An overwhelming silence enveloped us. There were no cars, no people, just an eerie hush that hung in the air.
It was only 9:45 PM, but the roads were empty, and the stillness was disconcerting. All the local buildings, typically bustling with activity, yet on that night, it lay in a shroud of unusual quiet and darkness.
I stepped back into my apartment, a place where I had lived for years, but never once had I felt the need to lock the door until that night. My hands were trembling, my mouth parched, and I was overcome by an old, familiar feeling of anxiety and adrenaline.
Anticipation hung in the air as I faced my refrigerator. As the fridge door swung open, the light spilled forth, a beacon of choice in the dim kitchen. In that poignant moment, I found myself standing at a crossroads of emotion and instinct. The sight of alluring, less wholesome options beckoned to me , promising an escape from the heavy weight of the recent tragedy.
My mind and body engaged in a silent tug-of-war. My mind’s voice was persuasive, urging me to seek solace in the familiar comfort of indulgent food. Meanwhile, my body, like a sentinel of resilience, yearned for a different kind of nourishment.
I hesitated, my hand hovering amidst the tantalizing options. It was a defining moment, a test of my strength and resolve. The choice I made was a testament to my ability to transcend an old coping mechanism, even in the face of heart-wrenching tragedy. With determination, I withdrew my hand, clutching not the usual comfort food, but an apple and a bottle of water.
I closed the door, went to sit on the couch, and turned on the news, wanting to understand more about the situation that had rattled our community.
Even in the face of an overwhelming tragedy, with emotions running wild and anxiety gripping my every thought, it became evident that my coping mechanisms were undergoing a transformation. As I stood before the open refrigerator, my inner turmoil was not dissuading me from reaching for it, but rather, it was influencing what I retrieved from it.
In these moments, we confront the same familiar obstacles and situations. Yet, there was a subtle but profound shift in the way I dealt with this predicament. The inexorable truth remains that we cannot alter the actions of others; our power lies solely in our reactions to their actions. And within that realm of reaction, we find the capacity to change our actions in how we navigate life’s challenges.
The tragedy that unfolded just an hour’s drive from my home could be viewed from various angles. Some might argue that it impacted me as a neighbor, fostering empathy for those directly affected. Others may argue that it didn’t affect me personally since I was not directly involved. However, I found myself caught in a crossfire between the past and the present. The horror of the incident ignited an old, familiar reaction within my body. But this time, the action I took in response to that reaction was mine alone, a conscious choice that I wielded with a sense of control.
As I watched the news, my heart ached for the victims and their families, even though I still couldn’t fully grasp the reasons behind such a tragic event. The shooter remained at large, casting a shadow of unease over the community. The lingering question of “why” remained unanswered.
However, as the morning’s soft light filtered through my window, I recognized that, despite my initial visceral reaction to the situation, I had managed to exert control over my response. It wasn’t about celebrating a personal victory; rather, it was a stark reminder that, even in the face of an unimaginable tragedy, there are aspects of our lives that remain within our control. While I couldn’t alter the course of events that led to this heart-wrenching situation, I could still choose how I responded.
This became a moment of personal growth, a realization that I could draw on my own resilience to make a better choice. It was about understanding that, within the boundaries of our individual selves, we have the power to determine our responses, especially in the darkest of times. This newfound sense of control was a way for me to channel my emotions and contribute to my own healing while remaining empathetic to the immense pain experienced by the victims and their families.