Boston Strong

 

Boston means a lot to me. The hot, sweaty summer evenings; the chilly winter mornings; the gulls down by the harbor and the street performers at Fanueil Hall. It means three years of my life. Hours spent at school, at work, at play. It also means a lot of firsts. My first apartment, my first full time job, and my first experience of a bombing. And on that day, when something that sounded like a firework being shot off ricocheted down the street, I was not brave. Everything in me turned inwards, tried to run away as I saw the mass of people streaming down the streets. The phone lines were dead. My internet was sluggish if nonfunctional. I just saw all the people running and screaming, a few cop cars going the other way.

It was warm by that time of year, a welcome relief from the wet winter, and I stood in my apartment, alone, staring out. The flow of people had slowed but the scream of the sirens had not. It took me a minute to realize my phone was ringing. I assumed it was an emergency alert, but it was my friend, Ana. I picked up the phone; it felt like a death sentence. Until then, I had no idea what was going on. In the next second, I will. Can I handle that?

Behind Ana was shouting and sirens and the static sound of chaos. She was choking back tears, repeating my name. “What’s the matter? What’s wrong?” I kept asking, telling her it would be okay in intervals, even though I had no idea what she was so worried by. The dread I felt at knowing deepened.

“They bombed the marathon,” she said with a hiccup. My stomach sank. We were supposed to be there together now, at the finish line, but my computer had gotten a virus that I had to take care of. We called it off, but it sounded like she had still gone. “I was on the green line when it happened, at Park St, they forced us off. I—I don’t know who did it or what’s going on, can you come get to me?”

It was a small question, one that was hard to pick out from the all the background noise. I was about to say yes even though I knew it was impossible—the bombing was between us and the T was shut down. My response was precluded when Ana started up shouting. A reporter was asking her for a statement. She did not want to talk. The phone call ended and my service refused to come back.

I decided to go out, see what was going on and meet with a friend. And while I was not brave, still terrified out of my mind, the people of Boston changed that. Walking down Columbus Avenue, I heard stories of runners in the Marathon that had continued on past the finish line to run to the hospital to donate blood. Of the first responders who were able to clear out the area quickly. I expected an atmosphere of anger, or some degree of a violent, visceral reaction. But the bombing had not torn Boston apart, rather, in those very moments, it had brought the city together.

When the city was shut down. When terrorists were being chased. When men with assault rifles guarded the streets. I felt no fear in me. I felt invincible. And I still do, whether I am on the bricklaid sidewalks of the South End or now on the cobblestones of Germany. I remember the bravery of so many and the strength of the community, and with that I am braver as well. I look forward to moving back to Boston in a year, but look even more eagerly towards the adventures between then and now.

Boston made me brave and, one day, I look forward to giving back to the community.

Thank you for reading and commenting. Please enter the Gratitude Travel Writing competition and tell your story.

Gratitude Travel Writing Contest

We hope you enjoyed this entry in the We Said Go Travel Gratitude Writing Contest. Please visit this page to learn more and participate. Thank you for reading the article and please leave a comment below.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

We Said Go Travel