isabel furie

did the last two weeks really happen? i wrote that sentence and then wrote 35 other sentences which i erased over and over. and stared at the blinking cursor. i find myself not wanting to talk on the phone because i can’t even yet relive it. difficult to talk to people who aren’t feeling as shaken as i am.

a week ago today i went to Watertown. 10 minutes from our house. the arsenal mall that flashed on the tv, filled to the gills with every imaginable law enforcement from all of Massachusetts, is where we go to Target, Friendly’s, the two awesome water parks. two weeks ago today, the unimaginable happened at the Boston Marathon. on a day just as beautiful as this. the stark contrast of all of this against the backdrop of Boston at it’s absolute best, in bloom, springtime, is interesting. i guess. i am at a loss for words for this all.

anyway. i went to Watertown. where the infamous boat remained parked. neighbors gathered at both corners, red cross counselors handing out pamphlets on how to talk to your children and how to take care of yourself. i was in my winter coat, with my camera bag over my shoulder. it was cold. but the adrenaline was making me sweat and have chills. there was nothing to see. “presence” cops, atf, staties, fbi, bomb dogs. clearing the area. they moved the boat i’m sure, in the stealth of the night. just as they did the boy. buzz was about though, and i looked over to see a friend, Aram, who i’ve been lucky to work with on my food styling days. he had been shooting since the marathon and was tired and shaken. it felt good to see him though.

after tagging along with him for a bit, it was determined the boat would not move in the broad daylight, and we split.

i headed over to the scene of the shootout. in my dreams, or in an alternate life, i imagine being a crime scene photographer. the best mix of my passion and obsession with all things crime related. my favorite movie of all time is silence of the lambs. i feel a little Clarice in my bones. it was amazing, to see the street open. to stand with my feet on the spot where a bomb was thrown. to see the spot where the older brother fell, was dragged. his blood, in the cracks of the pavement still. i don’t know what i meant to accomplish with going there, shooting these images or even sharing them here. it’s just…all i know to do.

i’m not familiar with these complicated emotions. i’m a feeler, for better or worse, and i’m feeling this. all my love goes out to the countless families, law enforcement, and on and on and on, all the regular old people of this place who are hurting now. the victims. their families. wishing for it all to feel a little less heavy.

xo
isabel