And there was a murder, a shooting, two nights ago, less than a block from the Y.
So I think about that.
I think about the whistle Tim gave me that Creighton security passed out during their presentation during Tim's law school orientation. It's so windy though. I don't think anyone could hear the whistle, or anyone would be around to hear the whistle. I don't worry that much. Aren't all girls just trained to be aware of these dangers, those homeless men murdered right outside of soup kitchens (this one particularly called "Taking it to the Streets")?
This must be a punchline. It's too much, too well played.
And what about that homeless man's homeless friend, who was interviewed on the local news, but refused to be on camera because he didn't want to be murdered too? Why wasn't he there? Where did he go home to? He said his friend would never, ever go inside. Not even in winter.
And I remember there are two things to be afraid of: the locked room and the open field. I can never decide which is worse.
Last week I read that the spring and summer months see a significant increase in local crime because, you know, it's not too cold to get into trouble. I wonder if it's that way in Alaska. I always thought those frozen, black months would be worse, that time for monsters and all. But not even the monsters want out. Like bears, you know, in bear country. All those cow bells and whistles that bring out our clumsiness. Announcing ourselves in order to dictate at least a little of the power, at least to get a semblance of the feeling.
Since I've been in Omaha, especially at the downtown Y, I feel like I'm in a Wes Anderson film, specifically, I feel like I'm in The Royal Tenenbaums. But I'm not Margot anymore. No one can be Margot forever. I mean, she couldn't either. So now, I'm Etheline. I like being Etheline. My knees and hands hurt sometimes, especially from all the stretching, the shifting of gravity. From time, probably. There's always time.
All this thinking goes on, you know, during that whole two minute trek to that big glass door, that "safe place" sign. When I get into the yoga studio, it's dim-dark; we're all facing this large window watching downtown unfold it's shadows and change to day. The sun rises right through that window. It's kind of beautiful and a little lonely, that dusty small room. It all feels so sincere. During the session, the instructor throws these tissues all over the ground. It was very confusing. Then, at the end, when we meditate, she covers our faces with these bean bags that she's covered in lavender oil, and the tissues are to make it all very sanitary. And man, is that ever peaceful. All those faces under all those weights. What a beautiful thing. A whole room of people closing their eyes when the sun is just up and rising.