She's Beautiful As Usual ...

Henry was a man of routine. Every morning without fail, he would get up without hitting snooze once; something he prided himself on. He would brush his teeth, get dressed, and then go prepare himself a cup of coffee. Once it was ready, he would read the morning newspaper front to back while drinking his coffee. Once he read the paper, he would get up, meticulously clean his mug, grab his suitcase, and leave for work.

Henry was also a rational and pragmatic man.He was not a man predisposed to ponderings, speculations, and whimsies and could not be bothered with maudlin sentimentality. He saw the world in black and white; there were better things to do with his time that to waste time thinking too deeply about current events.

So Henry was quite surprised at himself one morning when he sat down with his coffee to read the local news and found himself lost in thought. He had heard about the murders of the two high school students the night before their graduation at his workout class the other week. He had stayed out of the conversation as everyone discussed the case and contemplating why the two young men lost their lives. What use was it thinking about it? He couldn't do anything to bring these two lives back so what's the point of talking about it? Simply put, while he felt bad for everyone involved, it was none of his concern as to the whys and hows let alone to concern himself with the emotions of the case.

A week later. he read, the case was still unsolved and no one knew why.

"Mr. Goodale, the county spokesman, had no updates about the investigation, but he did indicate that everything is still in play."

Henry found himself wondering "what's everything?" That alone was a shocking thought to him. Usually he would have ignored such a line but he was intruiged. He put his paper down and leaned back in his chair lost in his imagination.

What were they doing out late at night the night before graduation? What were they doing that they were not close to home; the neighborhood that they were found in was districted to another local high school and not their own? Who were they with? Who was out to get these two young boys in the prime of their lives?

His first thought was drugs. He had read several weeks before about about another crime in which a man robbed someone for drugs and shoes and then was stabbed to death later that night. What if these two boys were tangled up in a drug deal gone wrong whether buying or selling? Somehow that didn't sit right with him though.

He shook his head.

Maybe gang related? No, he reasoned, one of the gangs would have already claimed responsibility.

It couldn't have been them attending a party; someone would have spoken up about having seen them at party before now.

Could it be a hate crime? Henry hated to think it could be living in such a liberal, diverse county, in a city seen as not just one of the most diverse in the state but in the nation. He had to admit though, one of the victims was Muslim, it wasn't farfetched. How could anyone though kill someone simply based on their beliefs? He could not begin to understand that level of hatred.

He sipped his coffee; by now his coffee was cold and he was already running late to work but on this morning, Henry was captivated by his thoughts, too busy to pay attention to the passing time.

What if this was a love story gone wrong? He frowned and examined his thinking.

What if they were two young men in love? Henry saw nothing wrong with that...but wait...what if someone did find something wrong with that? What if they wanted to be alone (which, he rationalized would be why they were nowhere near their neighborhood late at night) and someone followed them and waited for the right moment to take their shot?

Or what if it was a tragic Romeo and Juliet situation; a well crafted murder suicide where the two could not be together due to their families' beliefs?

He thought back to the conversation at the workout class. Someone had pointed out that the young men had no enemies and seemed to be well-liked. But what if that wasn't the case after all and they were lured there by an enemy, an ex girlfriend, an angry family member?

His phone beeped at him, letting him know that a work email was coming through. Henry glanced at the time, finally processing how late he was to work. This was not like him at all, he thought, as he jumped up, leaving his mug on the table without a care, and rushed out the door.

As Henry drove to work, still lost in thought, he realized that his heart hurt for the families dealing with their loss. He hoped that somehow the police would solve the crime and there would be some answer for the families and the community.

...
This week's LJ Idol topic was current events in which we had to find a current event in our area and write about it. One of the biggest things going on right now here is the unsolved murders of two 18 year old young men who were found dead in a car the night before their high school graduation. I have spent way too much time lost in thought (as has my Bootcamp class) wondering why this happened so when this topic came up, I wanted to find a way to use this story for my writing because it's on my mind. I hope the police are able to get a lead and soon and help the families and the community to begin to heal.

Original article
The article where I quoted Goodale
If you're interested, this is the case Henry refers to when he thinks about the man stabbed to death after robbing someone.
And last but not least, Henry points out that this is is a liberal county and he lives in one of the most diverse cities in the nation. According to Wallethub, Germantown, MD (where the young men are from) is the 9th most diverse city in the country. The city that borders Germantown, Gaithersburg, is the 7th most diverse, and Silver Spring, where I grew up where the stabbing case happened, is the 5th most diverse in the nation.

RIP Shadi Adi Najjar and Artem Ziberov.

"Hillary, it'll be for three months. I promise." My father swore to me as he tucked me into my new bed and bedroom, the one I was to share now with my mom. My mother leaned over me to give me a kiss good night, her face pinched with worry. My aunt, my mother's sister, stood off to the corner, glaring at this display of love. "We'll be together again as a family. I swear."

"You sure, Aba?" I asked as I curled into my pillow.

"I promise." The lights turned off and I fell asleep that night with the sounds of hushed whispers of angry voices.

It was not the first promise he was going to break nor the last.

I didn't realize until I was an adult but at that moment, we were essentially homeless except for the fact that my aunt begrudgingly gave my mom a bedroom for her to share with her six year old daughter. She never let us forget it either.

....

My father ended up in jail. It wouldn't be the first time or the last time. I learned this the hard way.

Despite being a fluent Hebrew speaker, my mother didn't take into account my vocabulary (what 7 year old knows the Hebrew word for prison, she rationalized). She told me that he was in Baltimore doing a job with my uncles; I believed her. I had no reason not to believe my mom.

Until one night, my aunt sat at the kitchen table and berated her about her decision to be with my father, this schmuck who is now in prison. I began bawling and screaming, hyperventilating and yelling two words over and over. "You lied!"

I ran to the bedroom screaming as my aunt yelled at me to stop making so much noise and stop being a brat because "you don't know anything." My mom ignored her and calmed me down and I asked her "why did you lie to me?"

She apologized over and over; she thought she was protecting me. No child should know that their father is in jail.

She swore she would never lie to me again; she kept her word.

....

I transferred schools in third grade; it became too much of a drive to go back and forth to my private, religious school across the county when there was a good public school in our backyard.

I loved my school. I didn't have to wear skirts every day and have to worry if my elbows and knees were covered. I didn't have to learn Hebrew formally anymore. I made friends quickly and I fit right in. I would go over to my friends' houses, run around the neighborhood, and had the time of my life.

But I never brought friends over; how do you explain to your wealthy friends that the only reason you're able to live in this neighborhood is because you share a room and a bed with your mother in your aunt's house? You don't. Anytime my friends would ask me about where I lived, I made up lies as a little piece of me died inside thinking about what my life had become.

The one time I brought of my friends inside my house, my cousin was sprawled on the couch watching TV. When my friend asked me who that was, I lied and said my aunt and cousin lived with us. It sounded better to my ear. My cousin never said a word but I wonder if that night she and my aunt sat there and laughed at me and my need to play pretend and imagine that all was right in my world.

That sense of shame stayed with me for a long time after.

....

My mom and I hated being in that house with every fiber of our being. My aunt lorded it over us that this was her house; G-d forbid we touched anything that belonged to her. There were screaming matches between my mom and her sister nightly from being accused of "mooching and not paying rent" (which my mom did pay rent much to her friends' shock - who charges their own sister rent?) to stealing her food. She would have parties (including not inviting us to my cousin's high school graduation party which my mother never forgave her for) and not invite us unless one of her friends would say "don't you want offer Hillary something to eat?" and then I'd hear in a sickeningly sweet voice, "Hillary, would you like to join us?" Never my mother. I never went upstairs when her friends were there.

Aba was out of jail again and bouncing back and forth from hotel to hotel. On weeknights, we'd go out to dinner almost every night with him or with their friends and get home late. On weekends, we would join him bouncing from hotel room to hotel room so that we didn't have to be at her house. It was never home.

I swore that one day I would find some kind of stability, a home, and what I wanted the most, a bed of my own.

....

The summer before 5th grade, Mommy had enough money to afford an apartment of our own. What had been promised to me three months of having to live in that room turned into three and a half years. Finally, we were getting an apartment with two bedrooms  - a bedroom and bed of my own.

That summer, Mommy took me shopping to pick out my own quilt for my new room; it was a monumental decision in choosing a red, green,yellow, and blue squared print quilt that was my very own quilt for my very own bed. My mom's friend's husband put my room together with the bed and the dressers that had sat in storage for all these years. I asked my mom repeatedly if I could decorate my room any way I wanted which she swore I could (and kept her word).

August 10th, 1995, a month before I turned 10, I finally had a room of my own again. I'll never forget that simple joy, tears, and excitement, for finally having my own space. I'll never forget that first night of laying in my own bed and realizing this was my place.

My room became my haven; I had decorated it floor to wall with posters and magazine cutouts, I had a huge bed, books everywhere, figurines that I collected proudly displayed. That room was a reflection of who I was and who I was to become. It became a place where I could invite my friends and that I could be proud of. It became the place where my friends wanted to hang out, have sleepovers, and spend time together. My room was my safe place to go for the next seven years of my life.

Never again would someone take my room and bed and my sense of self away from me.