The Bonds That Break Us

Chinese acrobats, a Cirque du Soleil offshoot show, a Saturday night on February 20th. My parents attend. Directly in the row in front of them in the auditorium are two older women in their 50s or 60s, with a younger woman, in her early teens. They enjoy the show, both my parents and the people in front of them, the latter of whom talk frequently before the show and during intermission, with those who they sit next to. They are smiling.

Later that night, the older women will be joined by two others, the five of them will be in a van at a restaurant that I ate at two weeks ago. A man will approach them. He will shoot and kill 4 of them, and leave the young woman in critical condition.

Two days later, nobody knows yet if the young woman will survive. I eat breakfast at another restaurant in town. My dad mentions Saturday night. One row was all that separated a Saturday evening of fun from the last Saturday evening on earth.

The Chinese acrobats were as young as 13. The young victim was 14. Every 14 days, on average, an American toddler shoots an adult. A friend on Facebook says she will sleep with a gun under her pillow from now on. Another changes her profile picture to a saccharine photo.

Monday marches on.