Eulogy for a Stranger
July 8, 2003
Last night someone was shot and killed on the roof of my building. I don’t know if it was a man or woman, tenant or visitor. The guy who lives in the third-story apartment which makes the roof its patio is an acquaintance of mine, but I don’t know if he was the victim. I haven’t seen him yet today.
Right about midnight I was just getting into bed, having stepped over my sleeping two-year-old son. I was letting my thoughts drift when I heard the sharp snap, not unlike a firecracker, and a low thump. I lay there in silence waiting to hear commotion. I was pretty sure it was a gunshot I had heard and I was wondering if trouble was going to be coming my way.
But nothing. Silence, or as near to silence as you can get in the heart of the city. I began looking out my windows to see if anyone has come outside. I wondered if it was really a gunshot when the police showed up. A woman was standing out by the curb flagging the officer down. He asked her “Is he still alive?” She didn’t think so. They went upstairs.
In the next few minute the street was filled with flashing red, white and blue lights. A fire truck, two ambulances and more than 5 police cruisers had shown up. Everything still seemed calm. The paramedics came back down too soon. The victim, whoever they were, was gone.
I went outside and snapped a few pictures of the lights and tried to see if I could catch a glimpse. From the ground I could only see the officers standing in a loose circle, chatting. After about 15 minutes of nothing happening I went back inside. It was late and I had to work in the morning.
What must have been an hour or so later I woke up in time to see someone closing the door of a hearse and pulling away. All was quiet again. I slept and dreamt that the brakes on my car were failing.
In the morning I put my son in the car and then stepped back to look up at the ledge in the overcast light. You can see where the victim’s blood ran over the edge and into the rain gutter. I took a picture. It feels a little strange to be so detached. All of this happened about 20 feet above my bed, above my sleeping son. I may have known the victim, if only a little.
All I feel is curiosity, and a greater sense of our fragility. I have a hunch that it was an accident. They were drinking and playing with the gun and it went off. I may never know.
But in case that person never gets a eulogy, here it is. I hope you are missed.
UPDATE: It was my upstairs neighbor. He was hanging out with a couple of friends, drinking, having a good time. He had a gun which was given to him by his Grandfather, possibly an antique. He didn’t think it was loaded, or thought the safety was on, and was horsing around with it. The gun went off unexpectedly.
Posted at 12:35 pm.
2 Comments
