In Washington You Can’t Escape, Even By Zigzagging
WASHINGTON, Oct. 23, 2002–As soon as we walk out the door our eyes begin gliding up and down the passing traffic. There are 17 white vans or trucks passing by in about four minutes today. We all ask ourselves, why can’t these people drive something else for a few days? Something not so white.
I stand next to taller people when I’m waiting to cross the street. I bob my head when I listen to my Walkman. I figure I’m safe that way. That it would probably be difficult for the sniper to get off a clean shot. At first I told myself not to worry. He only shoots at gas stations. Then it was post offices, middle schools, homes, Home Depots and even bus stops. I refused to walk farther than five blocks without hailing a cab.
While I have a far better chance of getting into a car accident than being targeted by a sniper, there is still that inner voice of dread that says, “I bet the other victims didn’t think they’d get shot either.”
There are the phone calls from parents who live eight hours away, telling you not to step outside unless absolutely necessary. They are watching through the glass of the television screen, seeing pictures of the smiling people who are now dead, analyzing the maps of shooting points, reading out names of places they have never heard of. “Fairfax County? Is that anywhere near you?”
I see people now constantly moving their heads while getting gas. Fewer people leave the office during lunch break. Some diners now are removing their patio furniture to discourage people from sitting outside. High school football games have been moved to “undisclosed locations.” The city may enact curfews. I have FBI agents down the street from me, checking vehicles for guns. Outdoor activities aren’t encouraged.
I turn on the television, and every local station is running endless sniper coverage, interviewing witnesses who know nothing. The police offer no comfort, presenting a tip sheet that describes how best to witness a killing, how to avoid getting shot and how to walk “zigzag.” And, yes, two friends and I zigzagged down Connecticut Avenue for the first time two nights ago when we saw a white van with a ladder rack. We giggled uncontrollably and kept telling ourselves we were idiots, yet we didn’t stop till we reached our door.
Everyone has a theory about who the sniper is and why he is killing people at random. Some think the sniper may have played too many video games, may be a disgruntled military person or may be a terrorist. My taxi driver connected it to 9/11. Regardless of the motive, this person is now suspected of shooting 13 people, killing 10, since Oct. 2. No Son of Sam or Ted Bundy, this serial killer doesn’t even care to see his victim’s pain, shooting from far away — cold, quick, calculating.
My first week living in Washington D.C., we experienced an anthrax scare in our building a block or so from the White House. I was warned of being in this city a year after the Sept. 11 attacks.
Forget about anthrax, plane crashes, smallpox and nuclear weapons. I worry about this sniper armed with a gun every night before I go to bed and every morning as I wake up. The sniper might be walking beside me while I walk to the subway. He may not be driving a van anymore. The shootings happen less frequently. I make jokes about it, but it’s scary to think that right now I am living in what will some day be a motion picture starring Denzel Washington.
It seems like police have nothing to go on. The sniper could walk away right now and forever be anonymous. That’s what bugs me the most. I read there are over 100 unsolved homicides in the capitol area every year, yet we are all afraid of one person, a person without a description, a person without a motive, a person who’s playing God.
Published in The Kennebec Journal and The Morning Sentinel, in Maine.
