Gigi's · Journal

It's difficult to be moved by an abstract concept.  Death and horror occur everyday, but they seem so removed from my everyday reality.  However, I was surprised to hear about the shooting that occurred at Ft. Hood only 3 hours ago.  At 1:30 pm, around 100 miles to the West of where I am, 12 people were losing their lives (31 were injured) ...I was eating pizza and surfing the internet.  The rest of my afternoon unfolded in a similarly casual manner.  But upon hearing the news I was surprised to find that my reaction was overwhelmingly one of contemplation, rather than sadness.  These people had woken up, just as I had, with all intentions of having a normal, and most likely mundane, day.  They had no reason to suspect that they would never again return home, never see their loved ones, and never live out their goals and dreams.  Our lives can be disrupted at anytime, and thus, yet again, I come to the conclusion that we can't just throw away our time and our ambitions to achieve what we truly desire.  

I live across the street from a school, and more often than I'd like I find myself coming home at 3:00, the time that the school let's out.  Today was one of those days.  The streets were inundated with soccer moms and other parents too concerned to make their brats ride school buses, and so I traveled down my street toward home at the brisk pace of 5 miles an hour.   Upon my arrival, I saw that a car was blocking my driveway, nearly centered in front of it!  There were a few spare feet behind this car, unfortunately they were on the side of the driveway where one of my roommates was already parked.  I still decided that I could make it, and so driving halfway onto the grass I made a nice little serpentine move to reach the open spot.  I heard a clunk below my low-clearance car.  Luckily, however, the bumper was intact when I got out to check.  It was a stupid move, made out of frustration, which just served to infuriate me even more after hearing the possible damage resulting from it.  Now, if you don't already know, I have a bit of road-rage, but you just don't park in front of someone's driveway.  This is a fucking college town; students live everywhere, and they're constantly coming and going.  But even if residents are expected to be gone all day at their 9-to-5 you don't block their fucking driveways.

You fucking assholes, don't park in front of my driveway!

It seemed so appropriate, the night of my confirmation.  My dad was my sponsor and one of the few people who actually knew what I was doing.  He set it all up.  I believe that I was on my way to gaining black sheep status within my family, and it was important to him to remedy that, but I didn't mind the intervention.  I never have.  And so the time came at last.  After years of polite pressure, it was a quarter till nine on the eve of Easter Sunday, and we started out into the night.  The air was cool and damp, and an approaching storm loomed, projecting occasional waves of guttural sounding thunder from an unidentifiable distance.  The moon roof revealed nothing but an ebony sky, while the wind that whistled by it muffled the sex, drugs, and rock & roll that was emanating from the speakers.  It all felt more like a joyride than the somber occasion that it was.  I imagined opening the windows, letting the wind toss and curl my hair, gliding my hands along the airborne currents, and waiting for that first downpour to wash over me.  This nocturnal daydreaming was interrupted however, when my dad reached beside me to close the roof.  While lost in my own world, invisible raindrops had begun to materialize on the windshield.  The storm was nearly upon us, and I discarded my fanciful thoughts for ones of concern over the fate of my neat hair and clean dress.  I did this while gazing upon the sleepy city that passed by.  My will was holding back the rain and each little building that I spied through the clear night was a victory. 

Then, out of the darkness, the church appeared - a refuge, but at the same time ominous, as it towered in front of the backdrop of a now sickly orange sky.  I had never noticed the neon crosses placed on all four sides of the steeple, but now they conspicuously glowed a calming blue, shining as a beacon to all those shopping for some late night spirituality.  The scattered rain drops were showing signs that they may soon pick up, and so we hurried toward the door.  I could hear the ethereal voices as I approached.  They beckoned me toward them, yet there was a certain sobriety to their tone.  It was the night before Easter, a night in which the Catholic faith was memorializing the still dead and entombed embodiment of Christianity, the night I was to finally accept that very faith.  It was eerily appropriate.

But I did not burst into flames at the door.  No one paid me any attention; it was simply calm.  The lights were out and the stained glass was dark, like an old photograph that was only a still and faded likeness of the deep and vibrant creatures it was intended to capture.  There was a small light that shone above the organist in the loft and a handful of glowing prayer candles set back into a grotto.  The rest of the church was dark, and the scattered members of the congregation were still, in quiet veneration.  We found our seats and proceeded to follow suit, sitting in the end of the pew in silence.  The church had that familiar and intoxicating aroma of incense, mint, and aftershave.  It was like a drug, washing over me and dulling my wit.  Everything became sheerly sensory, and the structure around me came to life.  Above the alter, the twelfth station of the cross glowed in front of the synthetic orange light of a street lamp - Mary's angelic face sad and beautiful.  But the solemn omnipotence of the scene was not lost on me yet.  The storm was still approaching, the rumbling becoming more pronounced, until bright flashes broke the darkness.  Suddenly, all around me hallowed characters came to life.  Their ancient, ghostly figures shone white and their glassy halos were set ablaze by the electric glow.  And then, the heavens opened up, and the show was over.

I feel so ashamed of the morbid curiosity I felt this morning.  While driving to park behind Northgate we saw that College Main was blocked off with police tape, ironically enough, between Church Ave. and Cross St.  We went out of our way to walk by the scene on our way to lunch.  We saw very little - only a couple of cones in the middle of the street and police officers taking pictures from the sidelines.  On our return to the car we saw that they were scrubbing the street...

This morning, a little past two, while exiting the parking garage a woman ran into a line of people that were paying for parking, killing Lindsay Walters and putting two other girls in critical condition.  She didn't stop, but continued onto College Main, hitting another vehicle.

I don't believe, but I can't help feeling compelled to pray for these people.  Perhaps all I really can do is appreciate my life more.  I don't know what kind of person you were Lindsay, but I'll try to learn from your loss.

http://www.kbtx.com/home/headlines/40500312.html

The night air was saturated.  I swam in my sea of white cotton in an attempt to seek comfort, finally settling on a position.  The sheets were strewn about - pillows wedged between my legs and arms to keep one hot and clammy surface from touching another.  I laid on my side, staring at the fish on my night stand, taking in the moment.  He stared back.  I always have a funny feeling that he recognizes me - likes me.  Perhaps it's wishful thinking, but I don't mind.  The tv flickered from above, providing a sporadic glow over us and the remaining contents of my bedroom.  The night sky was a dark orange.  I had earlier seen a hazy moon paired with the lovely Venus, but now a cloudy blanket was reflecting man-made light.  And through the open window a breeze that rustled nature outside began to cool the tropical calm that had settled indoors.  The sound and the temperature were calming, taking precedence over the muffled rattle of the tv, but even that was pleasantly necessary.  It all was so overwhelmingly ordinary, but truly taken in, it was enchanting.