Surviving an American Mass Shooting: With Hope, Injustice and Bullets (Part 2)
Part 2. Vibrant hope shatters with a POP as Two Sevens Clash over Dallas.
Previously, in Part 1: The Cliched Wayward Writer, we met Athena, a new friend determined to carry on her family’s dedication to social justice, as a Black Lives Matter protest meanders through Dallas, Texas.
As dusk overtook the sky, we hustled to join the crowd. Hundreds of people morphed into one giant, electrifying organism, slithering its way through the oppressively muggy streets of Downtown Dallas. Swept up in the moment, I stumbled about, absorbing the passion emanating from the ebullient faces and irrepressible voices booming into the night.
As we rounded the Main Street Garden Park, the procession’s rhythm and vibrancy consumed me, forcing my body to acclimate to the staggering intensity. Quieting my inner child and tempering my racing mind, I paused to appreciate the moment’s significance and readjust my journalistic lens.
Recalling the great civil rights leaders of movements past and present, those who marched to change the world, my heart was humbled. I remembered Ruby Bridges’ determined courage as she trudged past tormentors (okay, I recalled the scene from Forrest Gump). I remembered lessons from East Coast friends when each shared experiences as a Black person in America. While I didn’t dare compare us to Martin Luther King, Jr., or the Selma to Montgomery march, I paid reverence with each step, staying close to and supportive of Athena. Onward, we continued the tradition in their honor, raising our voices to complete their mission.
Seven blocks farther, hundreds of advocates congregated in Dealey Plaza. Yes, that Dealey Plaza, overshadowed by the infamous book depository where Lee Harvey Oswald perched to assassinate President John F. Kennedy.
As Athena led our way through the crowd, a bullhorn carried a man’s voice through the humid air, proclaiming the need for justice and societal change. After a few minutes, the audience’s restlessness muffled his message. Lost in a sea of people and straining on our tiptoes to see, Athena suggested we head home.
Invigorated with vibrant elation, we galloped east on Main Street, past the red bricks of El Centro College as Athena recapitulated the highlights with a gusto.
“At least the cops were cool today. They weren’t standing around like they normally do.”
Halting, Athena jauntily mimicked the foreboding stance of a police officer, puffing her chest and crossing her arms with a dour look on her face. With laughter filling our hearts, we continued down the sidewalk. Stepping into the street, we navigated around a peculiar car, parked perpendicularly to block traffic and pedestrians. As the light cycled again to green, impatient commuters laid on their horns.
Ignoring the hubbub, we giggled on, stumbling through the crosswalk as Athena continued regaling, as I reached down to snag up a littered plastic bottle.
“They were getting into it! Nodding and smiling. And at least it was a peaceful pro-...”
POP! POP. POP.
Survived this far? Continue the journey in Surviving a Mass Shooting: Dodging Bullets and Death (Part 3).