Blue Lights

“Those blue lights look good on you, girl,” I say with a smile on my face to mask a train of doubts. Twenty minutes earlier and 100 feet away there had been a shoot out. These moments intensify my gratitude for the passing of time. Thirty minutes earlier we’d driven by with a bus load of kids. I thank God for every second in between.

I’d never understood how things like this grew normal, yet there I was, joking around with a few neighborhood teens as they observed just beyond the caution tape in hopes of catching a good story for school the next day. A year earlier my heart quickened just hearing about a similar situation. This year, I felt no more than simple concern.

It caused me to reconsider trauma. If I don’t feel affected, am I? It also helped me understand why people stay in tough situations. Regularity breeds familiarity and familiarity, when coupled with a lack of options, accidentally ends the sentence. “I was on my way to a better.” Before we know it, we’re asleep on the couch in the middle of a fire because we’re used to the smell of smoke.

I’m not sure there’s anyone to blame. What good would that do anyway? I, however, do not believe fires were meant to consume us.