NIMBY

It's days like these that I appreciate my ability to sleep through a rainstorm...and apparently a bomb explosion.  While much of south Evanston was startled at 3:50a this morning by a blast that shook buildings, I was deeply involved in a dream about bowling alleys (which I have since forgotten).  I woke up, turned on the radio, and heard that Nichols School was closed for the day while police investigated a body found on the premises.  It took me a few seconds to comprehend that Nichols was the middle school a block away, and something was seriously wrong.  As I went to my computer to look up more information, I glanced out the window and what I saw was nothing short of mayhem.  Streets and sidewalks were blocked off, the FBI and police were patrolling the scene, traffic cops were diverting cars, and the media was swarming around looking for information.  It seemed that two hours after the blast, a man walking his dog found a decapitated body on the tennis courts a block away and another bomb.  I took a deep breath and started to process everything.

As the morning went on and people gossiped and whispered, the initial report was that it was a suicide.  Even though this didn't seem to mesh with the evidence, it quickly became all too real and within an hour I had broken down sobbing.  The horrific nature of the events, the mystery surrounding them, the CSI aura out the window, the stares from passersby...and then these rumors.  I've had handfuls of friends affected by suicide, and had my stomach settled with charcoal in high school.  The trauma, the terror, the uncertainty, the unease in the neighborhood.  It was too much and I was rendered useless most of the morning as I grieved.

I live in Evanston, Illinois.  It's not too shabby.  We have two zip codes, six Starbucks, two Whole Foods, a prestigious university, and million-dollar mansions overlooking the lake.  Yes, we have problems- the crime rates are similar to some city neighborhoods and our schools, libraries, and community resources are in trouble.  But it's home, and you like to think it's safe.  Until it's not, and you wake up to bomb threats and beheaded bodies and choppers overhead and news cameras flashing.  Then you remember to lock your door, tell your friends you love them, mail those cards you wrote last week, and light a candle just because it's Tuesday dinner.  Because you never know. But you don't stop living. 

You can read the Tribune's story here.