I was at the Westin-Bellevue last week. I'm one of the lucky ones. I got out with a broken arm, some cracked ribs, a dislocated shoulder, a black eye, and enough glass in me for seventeen windows. May was also lucky--a dislocated knee, smoke inhalation, lacerations from glass. All things considered, we were very fortunate.
My colleagues were not so fortunate. Dr. Bannerjee was killed, along with his wife, Nalini. They leave behind two infants under the age of a year. I've been to their apartment many times, have eaten with them, have held their children, have considered them friends. Bannerjee--for some reason, we never called one another by our first names--and I played racqetball twice a week. And now they're gone. Their children will be raised by Bannerjee's brother, Naresh, and his family, who live in Spokane.
Bannerjee's first name was Mahesh. It seems somehow important to mention that.
Dr. Foreman has a broken leg, and Dean Alcott lost an eye. There were others from different departments, people I didn't know personally, and they've suffered and died as well.
And for what? I don't even know.
I've always been of a liberal bent; my brothers and I were raised that way. While I didn't actively support House of Spades, I appreciated their willingness to be out there, to take on the system, always with a sense of humor.
It's not so humorous, now. People have been hurt, people have died. In all honesty, I could not connect them with either the serum contamination or with the bombing, because it seemed so out of character--it just didn't match with their previous actions. A large number of the attendees of the gala were university faculty and staff, and we've always tended toward the liberal in our opinions. It doesn't make sense to hurt those who are more inclined to view your actions with leniency, if not favor.
However, the recent shooting makes me wonder if I was wrong about such suppositions. Unlike the bombing, this was very straight-forward, unmuddied by supposition. He did shoot those people. Whether he did the bombing and the serum, or whether those were tailored by others to look like House of Spades activities, I'm not sure. While recovering, I've had a lot of time to think, and even so, I can't draw any clear conclusions.
My thoughts and sympathies are with those who were injured and who lost family and friends. Of that much, I'm sure. May and I are back to work. I'm currently in my office, swearing at the keyboard because it's damn hard to type with one cut up hand and the other in a cast to my knuckles. It will get better, I know, but I have to backspace and correct typos about every ten words. Annoying.
I remember getting a phone call--that was why I was in the lobby. I was going outside to get better reception. When I woke up in the hospital, my mother was there, but not my father. It seems that the government got tired of Ben, and put him in an adjustment center. My dad is there in Boston with lawyers trying to get him out before they do him irreparable harm. They have Kayla, his wife, as well, and they're attempting to force conjugal visits. Neither of them are cooperative, and honestly, I don't know how they'll get them to comply. I'm pretty sure I don't want to know. I want them out, untouched, but I'm not sure how that's going to happen. They have enough lawyers between the two of them for a sea of litigation. But god only knows what the government is doing to them while they have them. I'm worried. Mom's convinced I'm not dying now, and she's flying back out to Boston later today.
I have ten minutes before class begins. I suppose that I should begin the trek there, since it takes me a bit longer to get anywhere.
