Santa Monica

I called my dad today to go over my taxes - i've never had to do taxes before.
But he was distracted.

Yesterday a teenage boy was shot in Santa Monica. He goes to Santa Monica High School. My sister goes to Santa Monica High School. I went to Santa Monica High. Fortunately, my sister does not know the boy. Not that it makes it any easier. Its is hard watching all your friends and the people around you grieve openly, uncontrollable in classes, between classes and every where else. You feel so hopeless and useless and guiltly that you do not know the person who is so missed. I feel guilty that you don't hurt and that you can't make everyone else not hurt too.
That's how I felt when LaLa Morales, a girl in my year at SaMoHi was killed. I didn't know what to do.

But it get worse, or maybe it just adds to the pain.

This boy - who's name I don't know - was shot across the street from my theater. The theater where I grew into the person I am today, in both good and bad ways.

My Dad nows plays an integral role in the running of the theater and while in rehearsal yesterday, the boy was shot. He was there. The boy ran across the street and into the glass doors of the theater. He died in my father's arms. His youth cast was in the lobby with him. They all saw it. I wish I could close their eyes to that forever.

If this had happened three years ago, even two years ago. I would have been in my father's place. I would have been holding that dying boy trying to stop his bleeding until the ambulance arrived. I would have been yelling at the little ones to go into the other room and keep rehearsing, distract themselves from the cruel world which had so quickly invaded the little place of imagination we try so hard to create and maintain.

I might have known the boy. He might have been in my year. He could have been in one of my classes or sat across the quad at lunch. We might have only known each others faces, passed each other in the hall a few times, not even smiled. I might have been the last person to see his eyes still taking in the world no one should ever know. Would I have cooed and tried to make it not seem so bad? Would I have smiled at him, so he might see a little bit of friendship before his final breath? I don't think I want to ever know what I would do.