I went late to the vigil for Taliesin Myrddin Namkai Meche and Ricky Best. The crowd was thinning. The first two people I recognized on the platform were Olive Rootbeer and Dingo Dizmal. (If they recognized me they didn't show it.) A heavily tattooed woman was attending to hundreds of votive candles. The sun was setting; our Muslim neighbors were already on their way home to break fast. I could not hold it together. Taliesin and Ricky got on the train Friday afternoon thinking probably about the long weekend, camping and barbecues and beers and family and friends. They didn't know each other. They didn't know, when they got on that train, that they would die together as heroes.
A sharply dressed young man standing next to me said, gimme a hug, brother. I hugged my new brother. I am not a hugging person. I am not a praying person either, I never had the habit. But I said this prayer:
May they be remembered. May their murderer be forgotten. May we also remember Micah David-Cole Fletcher and bring him back to health. May I be strong enough to do what they did, if I have to.