My alarm went off yesterday at 7:15 a.m. Instead of hitting snooze like I usually do, I ran from our bed to the the living room. My phone had exploded with alerts while I slept. While we rested, people were killed, just miles from our home.
I quickly learned what had happened during the late hours of the night. The suspects from the Boston bombing had been found. One was dead, one was on the loose. And we were on lockdown.
I got in touch with my boss, who told me not to come to work. I then went to wake Jacob, explaining to him what was happening. We sipped our tea and watched the news. The search perimeter was just three miles from our home. “How surreal,” was all that I could think.
There was nothing that we could do. I anxiously paced around the apartment trying to get things done. But I couldn’t. Jacob desperately tried working on his thesis. But he couldn’t. All we could do was wait. We were on lockdown.
Things went on like this for hours. I’d work on chores here and there, but always found myself back in front of the TV. I’d stare out the window every now and then, jumping at any little sound. I listened to the helicopter flying around our neighborhood, and waited.
We eventually decided that so much news wasn’t good for us. We had been glued to the TV all day. At around 2:00 p.m. we turned off the news, laid in bed, and fell asleep. We woke up still holding each other, and then updated ourselves on the chaos happening outside our doors. We were still on lockdown.
The day continued much like it had before. We kept waiting for updates, and went on with our unproductive day. I found myself in the kitchen, and Jacob tried his hardest to get some work done.
Then, finally, at around 6:00 p.m., there was news. Something we hadn’t had much of all day, even though we did nothing but watch it. At last, we were no longer on lockdown.
This news was a relief. Although they still hadn’t found the suspect, I felt like a could breath a little easier. I had no plans to go anywhere, but mentally, the term lockdown was a heavy one.
Just as we sat down for dinner, there was a new development. We turned the TV up loudly and watched with the rest of the country. The suspect had been found. Finally, we could breath again. We could sleep peacefully knowing that he was off of the streets.
Boston was loud last night. The streets filled with people cheering and singing. People were passing by our apartment building well into the night, singing “God Bless America,” and “Proud to be an American.” For once, I didn’t mind the noise. After a long and heavy day, Boston deserved to celebrate.
The city felt peaceful this morning. A light rain fell on my ride to the train station, cleansing blood from the streets. If only it could remove the evidence of the evil that occurred this week. People will remember this week’s events for the rest of their lives. Loved ones were lost, and people were severely injured. Both physically and mentally. People will heal, but people won’t forget. I won’t forget, Boston won’t forget. Maybe much of the country won’t forget.
But like I said in my last post, life will go on. It’ll never go on exactly the same, but it’ll go on. People will likely wake up a little happier today than yesterday. Yesterday’s news will be the talk of the town for a while, but will slowly fade out. Before we know it, next year’s race will be here, and people will flock back to Boston to run. Even more will show up to cheer. You better believe that people will be there to cheer. If Boston has proven one thing this week, it is that it is indeed strong. Today, I am happy to call Boston my home. Today, I am happy to be “Boston Strong.”