Around the time the bullets started, I went to bed. I woke up late to texts and facebook notifications asking if I was alright. In another minute I had some understanding of what had happened. People all over Orlando are going to blood centers to help. I can no longer donate, so I made sure my roommates were okay, then rode my bike to Publix for some lilies. They didn’t have any, so I bought a variety. It seemed fitting to honor the fallen with a rainbow.

Downtown was nearly normal. The highrises huddled together as if to keep warm, even though the cool of the morning had already been gone longer than some of the victims. The smells of gasoline, pizza, the faint floral scent from the bouquets across my handlebars. I caught snippets of newscasts from the cafés- “mere blocks away”, “worst since 9/11”. Clubbers still dressed up sipped Bloody Marys. People walked dogs and did yoga around Lake Eola. The forgotten, half invisible and unshaved as usual. Orlando seemed, if not completely okay, more or less as it was yesterday.

Is this right? Should we continue as normal, or should the whole city stop to remember? I chose the latter, but not everyone has the luxury of taking the day off to mourn. A social change themed arts event scheduled for tonight has been cancelled. The Farmer’s Market is still on. We must all choose how best to respond. Courage, tears, love. Never fear. Never hatred. It matters little if this was bigotry, politics, or just an angry young man- so many are dead. So many are gone.

Things changed when I crossed the 408 overpass. The highway noise must have drowned out the sound of helicopters. Downtown South is almost suburban- Subway restaurants, trees, no three story buildings. Something was clearly amiss, but it was distant. Pulse nightclub is farther away from where I live than I realized. When I passed the hospital, it still seemed no busier than normal. Finally there were news vans and police lines. A young woman asked me if the flowers were for the victims. I choked back sarcasm- no, I have a hot lunch date with an EMT. We’re going out to a war zone. Yes, I said. Want one? She was a reporter and couldn’t participate. Orange Avenue was blocked off a few blocks from the club. I ducked a few tapes, took a few backstreets. I wasn’t going to interfere with emergency personnel, but I did want to get close. Finally I came to a place about a block away. I could see the Pulse sign but not the club. I brushed off another reporter. I asked a Sheriff’s deputy if there was a good place for me to leave the lilies. He pointed me to a parked ambulance. The sidewalk behind it was where a victim was treated. I do not know if they made it. I still do not know who made it and who did not. The sidewalk was littered with broken glass, unopened water bottles, shreds of clothing, and a single tan sneaker with a red stain on the canvas. I dropped the flowers there.