Gone, Girl

GIRL, GONE

I am a girl. I am 19. And I am gone.

I was at The Borderline Bar and Grill last night in Thousand Oaks, California dancing to a twangy, hip swaying, country/western song, dancing with a tall, bony boy, whose gym ripped tattooed arms made me feel as if I was enveloped by the invisible, unspoken agreement that comes with life, that guarantees that we will live forever.

It felt like we were at the prom, dressed in flannel and denim instead of lace, high heels and wrist-corsage as we glided towards the infinity of possibilities which are the runway lights that keep you on the path towards the flight of your dreams.

I was happy.

And whenever I feel happy, I think of happy things.

I flashed on my dad’s face. The way he would look at me as if he was trying to put a figure on how priceless I was. I thought about my mom and felt her melt into me, like warm chocolate, as if she had just received confirmation that I was safe, which was all she ever needed to exhale and fall asleep, where every night she could call up the highlights of me growing up, always within her reach.

I thought about my dog, Sammy, who was a puppy at the same time I was, who cried when I left and cried when I came home and was incapable of withholding her outbursts of spontaneous joy. Sammy would cuddle with me the way I was cuddling with this boy, whose invisible tail was no doubt wagging too.

I looked over at my two girlfriends, in the slow motion that comes with the exhale of deep satisfaction, who were sneaking sips of drinks, staring at me with a mix of envy and love while they moved to the music with their silent, imaginary partners. We had not known each other very long, yet it felt like we were part of an ancient alliance, as if the rules of our friendship came from a just unearthed parchment that was written millions of years ago.

There are moments that are just perfect and this was one of them.

I felt impossibly young and suddenly grown up and nearly finished at the same time. It felt like my heart was expanding with a flood of just arrived wisdom which I could bank on in those horrible moments to come when I would feel abandoned, unsure or alone.

The lights warmed us like an incubator and I remember thinking that this is what it must feel like to live in a snow globe, a princess of the kingdom, protected from harm.

And that’s when the first bullet hit me.

And I cried out, “Mommy!”

The room became a battlefield as smoke bombs exploded and suddenly the light-hearted cheers and rebel yells of ecstasy became screams of terror and fear.

I knew that I was dying. You just do.

Every bullet that hit me, was a raging punctuation whose indelible message was: it’s over. You’re over. In seconds you will be gone. Quick, scream out: goodbye.

Everything was in slow motion inside me.

The torrent of adrenaline that surged through my bloodstream, made it impossible for me to feel anything but the shock of knowing. I knew that I was being propelled towards the white-hot, burning light that kidnaps the frail, the innocent, the victim like an alien abduction.

Death is as spontaneous as childbirth. The mad rush of air that fills our lungs with life the second that we arrive, is strangled out of us with the cruel insulting slap of finality.

My body was mutilated as if I had been torn apart by the teeth of a savage beast. I had been invaded by the rage of a stranger, who wanted to end his life with a crescendo of violence which mirrored the black chaos that was no doubt in his heart and mind.

I was canceled. Ended.

The plug was suddenly pulled on that magnetic feeling of perpetual motion which keeps us going, ready to greet the million and one absolute tomorrow’s that lie ahead.

The last thoughts that I had were not thoughts, but visions. I saw the future that should have been. I saw me as a bride, carrying a bouquet of lavender and lilies, being escorted down the aisle by my weeping dad. I saw me in Paris, twirling in front of the Eiffel Tower. I saw the faces of every friend I had ever had since childhood. I saw aunts, uncles, cousins, teachers. The anonymous smile of a fleeting stranger. I saw moments that were small and insignificant which suddenly felt important and full of meaning.

And I heard a choir of angels, who were quickly assembling, answering the call, ready to catch me, in their waiting, air floating arms.

And then: it was black. Quiet. My breath, my inner metronome, was gone. My compass had been stilled.

The journey was over.

All I ask is that you do not remember me simply as one of 13 dead.

I am more than a statistic.

I am more than the fields of pale white tombstones which most will pass and never notice.

I am the wind now, which will speak to you in the whispered voice of salvation which you can hear in the song of the eulogies, in poetry of the memorials and in the branches and leaves of the thousand oaks, that move like I did, when I danced on the floor and thought how perfect life is.