This morning I woke up with a hangover and a blue ink message written on the inside of my left hand. It read:

Dear God

Now, this message was definitely in my handwriting, but it was strange for a few reasons:

1) I don't remember writing it.
2) I don't use blue ink (I'm an inkist).
3) I don't believe in God.

All I can think is my subconscious was trying to tell me something.

For most of yesterday we were glued to the news. Glued to the news and busy checking in with loved ones and colleagues, so for the spiteful bitch that sent me hate mail saying that I should've been blogging sooner, the truth of the matter is, blogging was down the list in my mind, after 1) Making sure the men I sit across the table with on a weekly basis are alive and 2) Checking in with friends and family to make sure they are alive. I think those two things were important, but I do apologize if I made anyone worry or stress (and I am not trying to be self-important or feeling full of myself when I say that). As the death toll continues to rise today, I look back and still think my priorities were in the correct order.

My manager called me yesterday, wobbly and shaking, and told me that he also nearly stayed in London after the Parliament demo. If he had done, he would've been taking the train home from Liverpool Street that morning, and he would've been in the second carriage. The second carriage, the carriage he always takes. The carriage that blew up. My manager nearly cried.

England is a wonderful place to live. I love living here, and I love the way of life here. Something I have always both admired and teased about is the idea of English stoicism (stiff upper lip and all that).

But here, it works. The English are not unaccustomed to violence and terrorism-they had the IRA for decades, and to this day there is a grimness about the despair and the very intrusiveness that a single act of terrorism can bring out. The English have also been prepared, to some extinct-if this was an act of Al-Qaeda terrorism, then it was not done without some feeling that England, at least, were next on the list. Emergency services had run so many drills that once the dress rehearsal had ended and the real demo begun, they were ready, and they were brilliant.

That said, this horror is in my backyard. This horror is on tube lines that I take and in stations that I sometimes go through. These are places that I was in as recent as last week, and that alone is what makes me tremble. Almost four years ago I sobbed as I sat on a couch in my living room in Sweden, watching the Twin Towers burn. It was different for me then-I had never been to the WTC. I have never worked in New York. I felt the atrocity of what happened, I felt the agony of being powerless to help, but in some small aspect it was something I couldn't relate to as not only had I never been in a terrorist act, I had never known what color carpeting was on the third floor, I had never been through those revolving doors. I felt anguish that day, but I just couldn't imagine what those people were suffering through on that tragic day.

But now I can. I can imagine it.

I have been to Kings Cross, Liverpool Street, Edgeware Road, Aldgate and Russell Square, some of them many times. I work next to them. They are a fact in the equation of my life. I know where the turnstiles are, and I know which carriages to take to help make my journeys faster. This time, I can not only feel the anguish, but I know what the walls look like inside the hell. I know what the inside of the tube looks like, I know what the inside walls of the track look like. I know what color the seating is and I know to mind the gap.

I search around my feelings this morning and find two emotions- horror....leading to strength. I am still in shock, but I have by-passed the anger and gone straight to solidarity. I'm not a vengeful person. I don't want to bring revenge on a nation, on a religion, on geography. I want those directly responsible to be brought to justice. I also want them to know that they will not win, that they will not change the way of life here. In my own form of protest I will continue to go to London, I will continue to ride trains and tubes, and I will refuse to be afraid. They will not win. No one can own me like that. No one.

Which leads me to the writing on my hand.

I guess I have a few things to say, and so I'll go along with it and write to some kind of deity, since maybe someone is listening somewhere.

Dear God,

I have no words to describe how horrible yesterday was. I think about the people that died, and I think about the bodies that are still in the tunnels. I wish their loved ones could be there with them right now holding their hands. The dead are lying on tracks, they're cold and alone. They're labelled a crime scene, exhibit A, evidence B. They're scared and isolated and the one thing I want you to know is that I am thinking of them and hoping that they can soon be reunited with those whose grieving has only just begun. Please take care of them, when they get to whatever rest stop they're headed to, and until they get there, if you could find a blanket to cover them with and if you could sit and hold their hands and talk to them, I'd be grateful. I don't want them cold and alone, God. I don't want them cold and alone.

I can't believe this happened.

One week ago, God, it could've been me.

I don't know what to make of that, and I don't know how to feel.

I want to ask that you make everyone here strong, that you make people stand together, that you don't let us bend to fear. Don't let people be afraid, don't let them break. Help people unite and help us to find the monsters that organized this, that carried this out. I may not have faith in you, but I do have faith in the human desire for justice, to right the wrongs, to erase the idea that they are still out there, that they may strike again. They caused souls to be cold and alone on tube tracks, and for that, there are consequences.

And let there be justice, God. Let there be justice.

Had this event happened on Wednesday you would've taken over half my team from me, men coming into London for my weekly Wednesday meeting. They come through Kings Cross and Liverpool Street. Me and my meeting would've been responsible for their deaths. These are men that I love and that I want to protect, and so God I get down on my knees and thank you that they are ok and alive, that it wasn't Wednesday, that they are all ok.

And I cry, God. I cry.

-H

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 08:35 AM | Comments (40) | Add Comment
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