My neighbourhood, situated in what is reputed to be a fairly rough section of town, is mostly quiet.
On the left of my house is my landlady’s home, and while there’s still plenty of spring in her step, she’s definitely outgrown any delinquent tendencies she may have had in youth. She tends to her garden, says hello to everyone she passes on her daily walk, and is friendly to all the neighbourhood cats.
On the right, there’s a young couple with three kids, and while the noise sometimes gets overwhelming, it’s never anything more than the morning fight about going to school, or siblings arguing over games & toys.
Across the street there is a church with a congregation full of immeasurably kind folks. The kind of people that will greet you warmly and genuinely care about your well-being, whether or not you are in church with them every Sunday.
One block east of me, there is a busy four-lane street, lined with businesses, that stretches for miles and miles. The businesses nearest me consist of a café specialising in Bohemian cuisine, a charming little niche bookshop, and a barbecue joint that’ll knock your socks off. It’s as if my little neighbourhood is a pocket of quaint in an otherwise very urban environment. And I like it this way.
For the life of me, on Monday night, I could not figure out why the mass amounts of traffic that usually cruise down that busy four-lane were coming down my little cobblestone street, barely wide enough to allow two cars to pass each other going the opposite direction. Why the slow route? Why all the noise in my quiet little pocket of quaint, keeping me awake far later than I really wanted to be?
On Monday, Omaha police officers shot a man just down the street from my house. Reportedly, officers attempted to help the man before paramedics could arrive on scene, but to no avail. He died that night of his injuries. He was unarmed.
For years I’ve lived in this neighbourhood, and the worst thing to happen right here was when one of the kids down the street was bitten after teasing a dog.
Shootings don’t happen here; not right in my back yard.