At that time far north in Cambridge, I was working in my office on the computer when I slowly became aware that the bubbly girl across the hall was sobbing. At the instant my brain processed this realization my cell phone rang with Roberta's number: "Hey, I just saw on the news that there were explosions at the marathon..." I suddenly connected the dots with my across-the-hall neighbor. What bad news might she have received? On 9/11 a student we ran into was concerned about a cousin working at the World Trade Center - I didn't know her and she left our vicinity before the towers collapsed, but she's who I thought of when we heard the news report. I imaged her reaction would be similar to my neighbor's apparent emotional state.
I checked on my neighbor after Roberta's call. She said she had been tracking her friend's marathon progress online, and her friend crossed the finish line just around the time of the explosions. Luckily, as Roberta was calling me, my neighbor also received word that her friend was safe. Still, she was teary and clearly shaken.
I read online news and twitter reports the remainder of the afternoon. Several grisly photos circulated showing injured crowds over blood-pooled sidewalks, and even an amputated man being rush away. My Uncle Jim called to ask if I was OK, and if Roberta was OK. I felt embarrassed by the concern given how far-away safe I was, but I believe he thought we are in Boston, and anyway I appreciated the call.
Monday afternoon was noisy with police sirens (even in Cambridge) and walking home I heard the helicopters. National Guard inspected bags yesterday on the T (I got a female guardsman, and when she asked to look in my backpack, semi-flirtatiously I said I was sorry I had so many pouches. "Just let me see what's in the big middle one," she replied dead-pan). Since Monday the TV's have looped the moment of detonation.
Compared to 9/11, this was a fairly easy experience - I didn't feel the same personal danger as I did that day. I don't really go out, but truthfully there's currently a bomber at large and maybe emboldened by having gotten away with it.
Cambridge is kind of its own thing, everything I want or need is here, and so I've rarely crossed the Charles in the year since I've moved here. Boston seems a distant presence, just forming the skyline on Somerville Avenue. Ironically, the incident has prompted me to visit to Boston soon and more often. It reminded me how close Boston is, and how little I take advantage.
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