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As you can tell from my posts, I have been in Boston since Monday covering the aftermath of the bombings. Emotionally, it’s been a hard story to cover. Yes, people in Boston are resilient, and the city will get through this. But that doesn’t mean many people here aren’t still hurting and very haunted by what happened. I’m staying at a hotel about a block and a half from Boylston Street, and around here, nearly everybody you encounter has a story of what they heard, what they saw, what they smelled or what they felt. And they are struggling.
Grabbing a new room key tonight, I mentioned to a clerk that I was a journalist. Unsolicited, he told me that his boss had discouraged the staff from talking too much about Monday. But he just needed to. He told me that he had been hanging out right where the second bomb had detonated. But just a few minutes before, he had randomly decided to step inside a cigar store a few doors down. When he heard a boom, he thought it was a “just one of those muskets they set off at the Patriots games.” But when went back on the street, all he saw were body parts and blood.
He frantically began looking for his sister, who had gone with him to the marathon. He couldn’t find her, and his cell phone wasn’t working. He saw a man wandering dazed down the street. His pants had been blown off and his skin was badly burned. And, as he said again and again, there was just so much blood everywhere. “I tried to tell myself it was Gatorade,” he told me.
He followed the crowds, who moved away from the scene and toward the Charles River. People were crying and screaming. Along the way, he gave away his hoodie to a runner who was freezing. Eventually he was reunited with his sister. When he got home, he called his boss at the hotel and told him he never wanted to come back to the neighborhood again.
But at home, he couldn’t stop thinking about what he had seen that day. He watched the TV coverage and obsessively checked Twitter, looking at the photos and videos of what had happened. His mind wouldn’t rest. He called his boss and asked to come into work, hoping to think about anything but the bombings. “I don’t know how to un-see what I saw,” he said.
On the surface, he’s one of the lucky ones. He wasn’t physically injured, and nobody he knew was harmed. But he was a victim too.
(Photo by Bill Greene/The Boston Globe via Getty Images)