We were seated outside the Au Bon Pain three blocks from the finish line when we heard the first boom. Like a cannon shot. There was silence; we looked around in confusion, but nobody spoke. Seconds later, a second boom sounded. People stood up. We couldn’t see anything unusual. The eerie silence was broken by questions, phone calls, confusion.
It couldn’t be a celebration. It sounded so off, so wrong.
We didn’t know quite what to do. I packed up my math–I’d been trying to study for my midterm while my dad and his friends talked about Heartbreak Hill, negative splits, PR’s, how much water they drank and at what mile…all cut off by two sounds, and then the complete absence of sound. But then we were rushing inside, asking questions, figuring out what to do.
It was that same silence, four hours later, that made me cry as I hugged my parents goodbye. We’d walked–slowly, since these people had just run a marathon–to the condo my dad and his friends were renting for the weekend. Far enough from the finish to be okay. We watched the news for hours, contacted friends and family to let them know that we were blessed to all be safe. Our hearts broke for those who were not as lucky as we were. My father was interviewed by phone by my hometown’s various news outlets. We watched the same videos and saw the same photos as the injury tally climbed.
It was the evening when we decided we needed to eat something. The runners had not eaten all day, and they had run a marathon, though it was hard to remember back to that. It’s odd–the race was completely marred by the shadow of the tragedy, but the human body had to carry on. It got hungry, told them they had to go eat. To go live.
We walked down the street and saw a pizzeria was open. My heart was heavy by the time we opened the door. We ate and tried to maintain conversation. It was hard.
It was just that walk–three blocks through the streets of the city I love–that silent, shaky walk. The few people on the street unsure whether or not to look at each other. And all the things I love about Boston, especially on that day, Patriot’s Day…I couldn’t hear it in those streets. My heart grew heavy with the weight of the silence. I hugged my family and friends tight before heading home.
Boston, you’ve never been silent. Please don’t start now.
Runner’s World has been updating this list of ways you can help or show support for those affected by the tragedy.
