Bloody Sunday at the Monument

We arrived at the same time. Their family immediately caught my attention. We parked facing east. Their family parked facing west. The beautiful couple and their two kids, an older son and younger daughter, exited their car. My husband and I along with our son and daughter exited ours. We all walked west towards the monument.

The graffitied barrier circling the monument captured my attention and my family stopped to take a picture. The barrier didn’t exist when we began visiting every Sunday since the protests began, so I wanted to get a picture. Their family continued to walk. My camera lens accidentally caught their family as they entered the barrier.

As we walked closer to the barrier, the vibe felt different from our previous visits. Today, calmness reverberated through the streets. A few people quietly scattered about around the monument. A basketball goal stood tall waiting for somebody to play, and a one-man band played “We Ready” on the trombone as we entered the graffitied barrier.

I caught a glimpse of the family again once we crossed the barrier. They walked left around the monument, 180 degrees. We walked right around the monument in the opposite direction, 180 degrees. We met each other on the opposite side of the place where both families entered. I raised my camera to capture another image of the art on the monument and then BOOOOMMMM! I didn’t see where the blast came from, but it erased the calm vibe. 

Stunned, I didn’t know if I should run or duck. I did neither. I just stood. Within seconds, I saw a man with a white t-shirt and dreads ducking trying to avoid the blast. I looked up at the monument and saw the trombone player and his friends trying to figure out what happened. I looked to my right and saw the family that took the same few steps as us. This time, the father held his wife. Their daughter was crying and the dad wrapped his free arm around her to console her.

A man with a professional video camera came running toward the family trying to get the perfect shot. Another woman asked the mother, “Can I take a picture?”  I stood still. My laser focus on this mother made me neglect my husband and kids. I looked closely at the mother and caught a glimpse of the back of her arm. Whatever caused the BOOOOMMMM hit her. Streams of blood covered her arm and I froze. The distress on her face terrified me.

I regained focus and aimlessly went up to a random shirtless guy who held an expandable baton and asked him for a napkin. No rationale exists for this request. A boy with a red t-shirt trailed the shirtless man. I looked down at the boy’s feet. He wore no shoes or socks. All I saw were brown feet and dead grass.

“Something hit me in the chest, but I’m ok!” the boy told me.

I quickly turned my attention away from him and focused on my husband and kids. Without speaking, we headed toward the car at the same time. I forgot about the napkins.

Still in shock, my husband said, “We gotta Call 911.” We got in our car. My hands shook when I dialed and my voice cracked when I explained what we saw. The police and EMS quickly came.

My husband started the car, did a u-turn, and headed west to see if we could get a glimpse of the family. We saw them heading toward the ambulance. Bandages covered the mother’s arm and the blood no longer streamed down. The daughter still cried and the father continued to comfort her. Anguish covered the mother’s face and she gently tilted her head back. This is the last glimpse I caught of her.

Today, two families took the same path to the monument, but our exits were very different. Evil and trauma happened today as we tried to do what families do, be with each other, and teach our children. I believe that’s all both of us wanted today, but instead, we got a BOOOOMMMM and bloody Sunday at the monument.

My family drove back home. Processing. Silent.