We spent last night in the neighborhood bomb shelter, unused since mid-20th century nuclear bomb drills. Air raid sirens blaring and mortar shells rattling the house. The night sky flickering orange and yellow. We took only our necessities, my DVD collection and Jeanie’s cool new bag she got a great deal on at the thrift store (it’s really a great little bag, versatile and trendy). At the time, we didn’t know if only Pullman was under attack, or if it was the entire country. We thought of our family and friends. Our tears twinkled in the light of each explosion.It was a trying night, for sure. The end of our world, for sure. Over fifty people stuffed in a concrete lunch box. Prayers and songs of mourning. Paddy-cake and tic-tac-toe. Pilates and break dancing. Everyone had their own little way of coping. But the explosions just wouldn’t stop. It didn’t make us feel any better when we heard missiles screaming through the air.
Attack on our world. We prepared ourselves for the end.
Silly us, though. Turns out the bombardment was only Bob at 315 Casey Ct. It had something to do with trying to impress his new 7-year old stepson or something. Said he just wanted to put on a good show.
We laugh about it now. But only the nervous kind of laugh, the one where your teeth are still clenched together.
An experience like last night has a tendency of making you think about what’s important in life.
The possibility of end only brings new beginnings.
And I’m beginning to think how cool it will be to hook up with Bob next year. It’s a free country, isn’t it?
