Wanna be on the news? I'm talking local news, with the missing children and the construction accidents. No, I didn't think so. How about every day for a week, as a fleet of medical examiners, detectives, movers, and cops swarm the halls of your building as a haunting reminder of the murder upstairs.
Earlier this week someone in my building was killed. In her apartment. They found her a few days later around the time people get home from work in the evening and the rest of the night chaos built, peaked and waned. Police came by minivan, regular van, squad car, bicycle. Then, later, a midnight blue SUV with the letters "OCME." I looked at my partner and he looked out. "what does that stand for?" "medical examiner?" Then, with a wince "Someone's dead." Finally, late at night, a darkened ambulance with no siren and no windows backed into the driveway.
Now I understand the emotional-psychologic roots of a haunted house. In the bathroom, or anywhere in the apartment when I'm alone, a quiet horror simmers within. At the end of the day, I'm eager to stay at work or find evening activities. In the background, a profound dis-ease, a lack of ease over the answer to the question: Why does this one bother me so? What of the many murders in this murderous city? Only now does the complete lack of concern on any other killing really sink home. The apathy, the permission given by absence of outrage. And so the collective burden of this young woman's death.
Staying away from the news at night, closing the blinds, leaving quickly in the morning. Keeping regular work hours, making calls to friends when I'm alone, venting when needed... looking for a new apartment far far away.
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