Running. Screaming. Glass breaking. Tables turning.
Complete and total panic filled our Times Square restaurant.
I don’t know why I immediately hid behind the host stand. I don’t remember if I heard people shouting “shooter,” “run,” or “get down.” All I remember was kneeling there thinking that there was someone with a gun shooting up the place.
For no more than 2 minutes (honestly it was probably less but it felt like forever), I thought we were all going to die, or at least be seriously injured. I kept bracing myself for whatever a bullet wound might feel like. The only thing I could think to do was pray, but even that proved to be difficult as I didn’t have any words other than “Jesus keep us safe.” But I really thought I might be face to face with Him soon.
The sweet little girl right in front of me was screaming and crying. She didn’t speak English and kept asking “que paso” through her sobs. I wanted her to know we were okay, so I cupped her face and kept repeating “it’s okay, we’re okay” mostly trying to remind myself.
After calling 911 and once everything got quieter, I stood up. As I got up, I didn’t know what to expect or if there was someone still in there. I just knew we needed answers.
In front of me were dozens of scared people, huddled on the floor and under tables and behind chairs. Several were crying and some screaming. The restaurant was a mess – broken glass and food covered the floor.
The police told us a motorcycle backfired.
As a delayed processor and one who can’t help but stay calm when the world is crumbling around her, I walked back in to start sharing the relieving news to the still freaked out crowds. Slowly, people stood up to begin finding their phones or purses, and even their kids. We checked in on each other, and made sure the injured people were taken care of (because in a stampede surrounded by broken glass, there were plenty of cuts and scrapes to treat). Thank God everyone was okay, and that it was a false alarm.
An hour later, we were seating people again and carrying on as normal.
But nothing was normal. We weren’t okay.
The hardest part about the other night is that, because it was a false alarm, I have a hard time accepting the validity of my feelings/response. Those few minutes were traumatic. I responded as if there really was an active shooter, even though there wasn’t. I believed to my core that I was not going to walk out of that restaurant alive. So I write because if I don’t, I probably won’t process it. I can’t sleep without hearing the sounds of the screams and seeing the kids around me. I can’t hear glass break without jumping and panicking. And I wish I could be completely okay since it was a false alarm, but I can’t.
My heart breaks for the communities in El Paso and Dayton, where they didn’t get a false alarm. It’s devastating that this is the world we live in, that an active shooter isn’t a far-fetched idea but a real reality for lots of communities in our country recently. And I don’t know how to fix it, I just know how to feel and grieve deeply right now.
This just isn’t how it’s supposed to be.
In the middle of my panic and anxiety, I’m thankful that I don’t have to walk through it alone. I’m thankful that the Lord has given me some peace and space to wrestle these feelings with Him these last 24 hours. I’m thankful for my coworkers, who have talked with me and let me verbally process, and for the times we’ve laughed together over our knee-jerk reaction to the whole thing.
And I’m so thankful it was a false alarm.