He Who Must Not Be Named

I sat staring straight ahead in the back of a cab, totally physically and mentally exhausted. 

Questions raced through my head like, "what just happened?", "what do I do?", "how could this be real?". The cab driver broke me out of my fugue state.

"Where were you?" he asked. 

The day was April 15th, 2013. He didn't have to specify what he meant. I was wearing my finisher's jacket when he picked me up on the Massachusett's Avenue Bridge, about a mile from the bombing sites. 

"Clarendon & Boylston, a block away, I'm not hurt", I replied, still staring blankly. 

"You were lucky," he said. Understatement. "That guy, not so lucky."

We had made it to the end of the bridge and had come to a red light. I looked out the passenger's side window to the man on the Hubway bike that had pulled up next to us. I didn't notice what he meant at first. The man was wearing dark sunglasses and a hat, so I couldn't really see his face. Stocky and well-built, with a dark complexion, he was also staring straight ahead, waiting for the light to change. He was seemingly unfazed by the sirens still wailing relentlessly behind us. 

Then I noticed his jeans, and what the cab driver meant. More specifically, I noticed the quarter-sized hole on the left thigh, and the trail of blood that came from it. It's not like it was gushing, and at this point, an hour and a half after the explosions changed 264 lives forever and ended 3 more, the bleeding had probably stopped. Still though, shouldn't he have been among the 264 reported that day? At the hospital, or at the very least, patched up by now? I didn't think about it much at the time. 

Still being about 65 degrees and sunny, our cab driver had the front windows down. He leaned over to the passanger's side and called out. "Hey, buddy, you OK?" 

"I'm fine," came the emotionless response. He still stared straight ahead. The light changed, and we both continued down Mass Ave. I didn't give it a second thought that day. I didn't think about it for at least a few more weeks. The entire interaction was about 20 seconds, max. There wasn't a reason to. 

Until I saw the pictures and videos in the next few days of the suspects. Until I realized they lived within a mile and a half of that red light. Until I thought about what could have been the reason he was unfazed by the wound on his leg, why he wasn't one of the 264 reported injured that day. Mind you, I don't 'know' this for a fact. But the more I've thought about that moment in the past 14 months, the more I've been more than a little unnerved by it. 

The intersection to the suspects' house, 1.5 miles. 

It was him. The older brother. I hate saying their names. 

Or, could have been. Again, similar to my Quinn story, and the 'what ifs' that followed that I think about more than what actually happened. 

Should I have told someone? 

Especially after I thought about who it was? The manhunt was over at that point. 

Should I have tried to at least talk to him, ask him if the leg was really OK? 

Shouldn't I have been concerned that someone who was clearly so close to the bombs had no desire to seek medical attention? 

Worst of all, could I have actually saved a life if I did? 

As many will tell me, or have told me, and what I tell myself, it doesn't matter now. 'What if' won't change a thing about what happened. But I still think about those 20 seconds about as much as anything else from that day. Have you ever looked a mass murderer straight in the face, and watched him ride away without a second thought? I may have. It's something I struggle a bit with, to be totally honest. These questions continue to bother me today, that's why I'm writing this post. Writing about April 15th, 2013 has really helped me deal with it, and I regret not writing about this part of the story sooner. 

That's all. I don't have a message to this post, no lesson, I was just sort of wandering down Memory Lane today and got the urge to write. I promise future posts will be back to normal stories or anecdotes or happier topics. I need to cover one major topic that will affect my 2015 marathon effort (yea, that's happening): the Bruins' decision not to re-sign Shawn Thornton. That will be a much more positive post, as will, hopefully, all future posts. But as we know all too well, the world is not always rainbows and sunshine, so I need to share these stories too. 

Thanks for reading, as usual, and as always, comments and feedback are most appreciated.