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The Right Place at the Wrong Time


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The 2013 Boston Marathon was the first marathon that I had attended since moving to Everett. I managed to get there early enough so I could stand at the corner of Exeter and Boylston, where I saw coverage on the hulking screen above me. It felt great to be right there to witness an event like this as it was going on as opposed to standing in the back where I couldn't see. As I ate my packed lunch, I became a part of the cheering crowd as Jiptoo crossed the finish line. I couldn't wait until the next time I talked to my parents so I could tell them about this. By the time the clock read 1:30, I decided that I had seen enough people cross the finish line, so I headed home.

An hour later, I fell asleep on my bed and my cell phone rang. I ignored it at first, thinking that the person would just leave a message. It rang two more times after that until I gave in and answered it. It was my mother, telling me that she was glad that I was okay. Confused, I asked her why she thought I was in any real danger.

"Have you seen the news?" she asked, "There was a bombing at the finish line."

I promptly looked on the internet for more information and, by that point, people were unsure as to whether or not it was a bomb that had injured so many and killed a few. Whatever it was, I was struck by how it happened just an hour after I had left that area.

"Oh my god," I thought, "That could have happened to ME."

This was one of the few times in my life where I truly felt like the luckiest person on earth.


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