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Do you remember where you were on that day?

What day. There have been so many days.  It’s hard to keep track of that day.

Was it a traffic stop day? Tornado day? Something that happened over there, overseas, some place we will never see?  What is that day all those people were killed? Or that day that all those kids were killed, and what does it matter?  It’s all just people.  It’s all just another day.

He killed himself in prison, convicted.

She killed herself in prison, not even tried.

They overdosed in Ohio and West Virginia. Maybe it’s because they were sad about all those kids who were imported for house cleaning. Or sex.  Illegals. Criminals of victimless crimes. Or maybe they just wanted to get high.

I remember where I was on that day when that stuff happened.  I was either at school or working, flirting with a man-child. Tragedy took my eyes off him and thrust me into a world that was so much bigger than me. Than us.  That kiss.  That failing grade, those catty remarks, my fist, my failure to launch.

Where am I, on this day?