Boston, ‘It’ll Be Okay, Honey Bun’

Two years ago I remember my legs feeling numb, the crowd around me becoming blurred, and the cheers growing more distant as I closed in on the blue and yellow finish line at the end of the Boston Marathon.

I imagine the runners and spectators this year felt a similar way – except those cheers were screams, that numbness a result of body parts being blown off, and the finish line red with blood.

It’s a hard scene to picture, but the graphic images circulating the web make it less difficult. Scrolling though photos of crowds fleeing a smoke-filled street, of dazed looks, strangers holding tourniquets, emergency responders helping victims into stretchers, police officers fighting through barricades to get to injured bystanders – it’s overwhelming. But I can’t stop seeking it out. As the initial shock has started to wear off, I’ve been looking more at the backgrounds in the photos.

Look – there’s Trinity Church. And the Lenscrafters store with its windows blown out. And those two people were reunited in front of the Boston Public Library. Do I recognize anyone in the crowd? Miles away on the West Coast, it’s a meager attempt to confirm that yes, this place that now looks like a warzone is indeed the same place I recently called home. 

Before transferring to Mill Valley Patch six months ago, I was the local editor of Back Bay Patch, in the neighborhood where this tragedy struck. Covering the Boston Marathon was a big deal. In 2011, I ran the race – my first marathon ever – and last year I had VIP press access with a special seating area right next to the finish line. There’s no doubt in my mind that had I not moved to San Francisco, I would have been in that same spot again. It’s easy to play the ‘What-If’ game.

And I know others are playing with higher stakes. My heart goes out to the three people killed so far, and the more than 170 who’ve been injured. There’s also been countless other close calls. How many spectators, I wonder, are thinking ‘thank God I stopped to have that conversation?’ How many runners are blessing the shin splints that slowed them down?

I’m grateful all my friends are okay. There were also a number of Bay Area participants whose names we published yesterday, and we confirmed that they were safe within two hours. Thank you, social media, for providing myself and others throughout the world an almost immediate peace of mind. I’m also grateful that I was far from harm’s way and sheltered from the horror that has left many physically and emotionally scarred.

But the reporter in me regrets I wasn’t there on the scene to cover both the devastating details, and acts of heroism displayed by so many on April 15. The detachment that comes with distance is also surreal and frustrating. Like many Bostonians who have moved on, I long to share in the sorrow and strength of a city I love. A moment of silence 3,000 miles away is not enough. I want to rally together and participate in the communal sadness and anger that someone could do this.

Yes, anger. My sense is Boston is ‘wicked pissed,’ not living in fear. The roads may seem un-navigable (ahem, it’s part of the charm) but the city itself is small, and reminiscent of one big family that may not always get along, but has each other’s backs.

There have been many touching stories since the bombs went off, but I’m particularly struck by something simple that my friend Kathrin posted on Facebook:

“I started crying on the train today when we passed by Copley and the driver had to make the announcement that it was closed because of yesterday. At the next stop, she jumped out of the train and came back with a Dunkin Donuts napkin for me, saying ‘This is the best I could do. It'll be okay, honey bun.’”

Boston, it’ll be okay.