“October Monday”

c. 2017 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-17)

Morning on Youngstown’s channel 27, WKBN.

Waking up early on Monday morning produced familiar vibes for this writer. Grogginess, an immediate need for coffee, and wishing for a food synthesizer like the Starship Enterprise so that breakfast could appear at the touch of a button or a voice command. Mild amusement resonated that my Black Lab was sleeping with his favorite toy, a squeaking cheetah hybrid. I went looking for my iPhone with the realization that the house had somehow swallowed my device in a reckless gulp.

In passing, I turned on the television while headed toward our bathroom.

Cold water worked its magic. I pondered the figure in my mirror, slightly bent from fatigue and scoliosis. Graying a bit more after a recent haircut. Narrowed eyes. Having what other wordsmiths used to describe as ‘a furrowed brow.’

A CBS News special report echoed from the living room. I’d left the device tuned to a friendly station while watching programs on Sunday night. Now came a broadcast live from Las Vegas. Thoughts of a cousin who lived in that part of Nevada entered my mind. I struggled to comprehend what had happened. Gunfire? Chaos? Finally, I sat in my chair.

And began to drown in disbelief.

From the Mandalay Bay casino/hotel an active shooter had attacked revelers at a concert by Country Music celebrity Jason Aldean. I remembered walking through the notable gambling spot with Wife 2.0, during our honeymoon in 2006. Video footage offered a sound akin to military combat. Something I would expect to hear from Afghanistan or Iraq. But this was no foreign land.

Cries of fear and anguish were coming from... America.

Already, my phone had begun to burp a steady beat of electronic tones, as posts and messages were appearing. Not simply prayerful prose as I might have expected, but full-tilt, excrement-in-the-fan rhetoric one would expect at a campaign event. Blame & shame. I rubbed my eyes. This tragedy had just occurred on Sunday night? Only now being reported to much of the nation? It took a few cups of coffee to help me focus.

Politics.

In the modern world, they are never far away. Always as close as your mobile device or your first impulse to squawk out a Twitter ‘tweet.’ (Even our nation’s highest executive can’t resist the lure of such power.) With bodies and rubble still strewn across the ground, I pondered that humanity ought to be grieving. Kneeling in tearful reflection. For lost lives and lost innocence. A unified expression of our sorrow as a nation of diverse, yet kindred souls.

But instead, the strident drums of culture war were resounding. Outrage and partisanship filled the air of cyberspace. Advantages were leveraged to score points. About half-past noon, I could take no more. I posted on my Facebook account: “A moment to grieve for our brothers and sisters. No politics on this page. #Vegas.” 

My admonition received only two ‘likes.’

Somewhere in this Internet melee, I scrolled upon a TMZ report about rocker Tom Petty having collapsed after a cardiac event. His survival was in doubt. Then, it was reported that he had died, at the age of 66.

More anguish flooded my senses.

“Enough! Enough! Enough!” I shouted aloud.

But another controversy had been aroused. Again, the main story was missed. Acrimony flew wildly as the status of Petty himself became fodder for debate. His daughter added to the confusion with her own expression of obvious grief, hopeful that he would miraculously escape the embrace of oblivion. Insults were hurled by online trolls. Friends attacked other friends. Again, I shouted into the ether.

“Enough!”

Petty’s personal manager finally issued a statement, later in the night. One confirming his loss. But even a day later, people were still posting messages that contradicted the timeline.

“He’s alive! He’s alive!”

Woefully, Tom Petty wasn’t still his corporeal self, of course. Over 50 people in Vegas had been confirmed dead before him, on this day of dread. Inexplicable, seething horror ruled the moment. Along with gnawing sadness.

I bowed my head in silent prayer. Then, I began to sing my favorite from among his many compositions:

“I Won’t Back Down” (Tom Petty)

Well, I won’t back down

No, I won’t back down

You can stand me up at the gates of hell

But I won’t back down

No, I’ll stand my ground

Won’t be turned around

And I’ll keep this world from draggin’ me down

Gonna stand my ground

And I won’t back down

(I won’t back down)

Hey baby, there ain’t no easy way out

(I won’t back down)

Hey, I will stand my ground

And I won’t back down

It was the first Monday in October.

Questions or comments about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

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Published weekly in the Geauga Independent