June 7, 2014 The smell of tobacco and burning firewood clogged the air. Brushing shoulders with familiar strangers who may or may not have been in my graduating class, a wave of freedom rushed over me. Promptly five days after graduation, I was finally confident enough in my ability to maneuver through the challenges of life and complete the impossible. On this night, the “impossible” was attending a block party while my unsuspecting mother believes me to be just hanging out at my best friend's house which was typical behavior for me. But after receiving my typical diploma from my typical high school, I was determined from this point on, I was no longer comfortable living a typical life. I wasn't alone in my rebellion. My best friend shared the same unspoken feelings of desire for change and excitement in our small, uneventful social lives. That night, we danced to explicit music, sipped on distasteful beverages, and whispered about all of the alumni we witnessed at the party who definitely let themselves go. The “block party” was not what I envisioned it to be. Not that I had anything to compare it to, it just didn't match my imaginary visions of a joined community laughing, eating food fresh off the grill, and dancing to the greatest hits of the early 2000's. I had a vivid imagination. Nonetheless, I was semi disappointed to see a small house surrounded by a huge field and lanky trees, with the DJ set up on the porch. Not what I envisioned but I didn't think about it too much, I was just determined to have a good time. What now seems like hours passed by consisting of substance-less conversation, hugging old friends, exchanging numbers and social media handles, and the occasional twerk session to music too ratchet to admit to. A peaceful serenity fell over the crowd as we all bonded over shared feelings of independence and the sweet sensation that summer tends to bring. That's when it began. POP! My heart stopped. I anxiously scanned the crowd who seemed to not be phased by the strange noise that just rang throughout the wooded field. Maybe it was just a champagne bottle. That's what I told myself to prevent my rapidly beating heartbeat from falling out of my chest. For the few seconds I started to believe this theory, the sound appeared again. POP! POP! POP! This time, too insidious to ignore. Instantly the sound of music was drowned out by thunderous screams. Everywhere I looked, death seemed to be painted on the face of kids who just a few moments before had the world at their fingertips. This is when panic set in and my survival skills seemed to seep out of my body. In that instant, I was grabbed by my best friend as we took off running through the crowd. We didn't know where we were running to. It seemed like there were acres of empty field with no where to hide. POP! POP! POP! POP! The sound intensified. In those moments, it felt as if the shooter was directly next to my ear. We kept running. Moments later, the feeling of running disappeared and was replaced by the feeling of falling. We, along with almost fifty other people, had fallen into a ditch. A ditch so deep, even when we stood up straight we couldn't see over the top. To make matters worse, the ditch was full of water. People were climbing on top of people desperate to escape to safety. I made several attempts to climb to the surface but couldn't even catch my balance. My open toed sandals had failed me. I'd like to believe these moments were spent praying to God to help me out of that ditch but honestly, I don't remember thinking anything. Every time I almost made it to the top, I was drug down by someone trying to use my body to save themselves. That's the moment my thoughtless prayers had been answered. I was pulled to the top by no one other than my best friend, almost fifty pounds lighter than me. The only explanation for her supernatural strength to pull my body up that night is the grace of God. I can't even explain it. Even though we managed to escape the water filled abyss, the fight was not over. POP! POP! POP! The shooting continued, relentlessly. We still needed to attain safety. We kept running. My legs felt like noodles. I thought I was literally going to fall behind but she didn't let go of my hand. I remember seeing bodies hit the ground beside me. I didn't know if these people were falling or dying. It all felt the same. Finally, we saw what looked like safety. A dimly lit brick house sitting alone at the end of the road. Without saying anything, we both sprinted towards the direction of the house. We ran to the rear side and to our surprise, were greeted by a group of males all hunched down behind the house. Our hearts stopped. Did we just walk into our own deaths? Were these the men responsible for all the madness and were now hiding from authorities? We froze in time. They could tell what we were thinking and instantly reassured us that we were okay. We were safe. They hurriedly pushed us into a garage. This is the first time we could see each other in the light. Smeared makeup and puddles of sweat covered our faces. Blood and mud dripped down my legs. We held each other and cried. Our nerves prohibited us from staying still as our bodies shook and trembled. The owner of the house, a kind woman, had come into the garage and saw us sitting there. The boys, maybe her sons, explained to her we ran from the party. She invited us into her home, wrapped us in blankets, and gave us her phone to call our parents. That woman was an angel sent from the heavens. I don't know why she was home that night. I don't know why she let two, random girls covered in blood and dirt into her clean home. But I'm thankful that she did. After that night, two things happened to me. The sisterhood between my best friend and I was cemented in stone and could never be altered or destroyed. Nevertheless, I became utterly fearful of loud noises, large crowds, and death. The next day we found out a girl from our high school was killed. She had just graduated the year before and her future was snatched from her by mindless idiots who got their hands on a gun. This is the reason my soul aches at the sound of exploding fireworks, roaring thunder, and the opening of champagne bottles. This is the reason my heart beat accelerates at the sight of a large crowd full of happy, unsuspecting faces. This is the reason I still have nightmares of myself in similar situations, desperate to find safety as the vibration of gunshots rings in my ears. As traumatic as this experience was for my seventeen year old self, I am thankful that it happened. It opened my eyes to the reality that life cannot be taken for granted for any reason at any moment in time. I am a firm believer that everything happens for a reason, even if we're not aware of that particular reason. There is a higher power always at work that we cannot see or explain, but we can feel. My experience is something that I didn't understand until almost five years later. I didn't talk about it. I didn't write about it. And because of this, I have allowed it to sit on my spirit for so many years. I looked at it as something I wish never happened to me but now I see why it had to. I understand now that we have to face the darkness in order to appreciate the light. We have to move through life with courage and resilience. We have to look at our pasts as lessons and apply what we learn towards the future. We have to look ugly in its face and call out its beautiful qualities. Most importantly, we have to keep pushing forward with gratitude for the gift of life.