Patience Murray - Survive Then Live

 

I heard gunshots. They were firing off over the music. It sounded like they were coming from another room in the club. People were screaming, ducking and scrambling for cover. 

 

I was 20 years old. It was my first time going to Florida, my first trip alone with friends, Tiara and her cousin Akira. The trip was the only thing we talked about for weeks. It was my first time getting on a plane and it was my first time being at Pulse nightclub in Orlando. It was an 18 and 0 club and we had so many fun that night, dancing and being silly. But the club was about to close soon. My feet were aching, my armpits were drenched and the sleek ponytail I had in the car turned into a bushy mess. We embodied the phrase, leave everything on the dance floor. 

 

And we did, until we heard the first shots in the machine gun. I dropped to the floor. Things started moving quickly. It was like the room was spinning. I could hear other people, but I couldn't hear myself. I couldn't hear my thoughts. I couldn't think. I was on the floor, scooting backwards, away from all the chaos. I kept moving and moving until I felt the cool ground underneath my palms. I realized that somehow, I miraculously scooted my way through an exit and made it outside. When I looked up, I saw Kira coming towards me. She said, Tiara was still inside. I lifted myself up from the ground and without any hesitation, we rushed back in for her. It was the first time I felt that kind of determination, but leaving Tiara behind wasn't an option. 

 

The gunfire was still blasting, and it sounded like it was getting closer. Tiara was squatting by the bar, paralyzed with fear. Her eyes were lost. We didn't have any time to think. The exit seemed way too far, and the gunfire seemed way too close. We saw people rushing into the bathrooms. We really needed to hide, so we decided to follow them. We sought cover in a bathroom. It only had four stalls, so we jammed ourselves into the handicapped one with 20 other people. We could still hear the gunshots, the screams. But by this point, the music had stopped. 

 

There was a brief moment of silence. Then everyone started talking again. Some people were on their phones. I saw a girl bleeding on the floor, holding her arm, and others were begging people to remain quiet. Then the gunfire started again. But this time, it was inside our bathroom. We were screaming and scrambling around on the floor as the shooter fired endless rounds of bullets at us. Then the shooter's gun jammed, the gunfire had stopped. 

 

When I looked down at my leg, I saw a hole the size of a penny pouring red streams of blood. I tried to wiggle my way into a space on the floor, but the pressure surrounding the bullet wound was so heavy, it felt like a boulder had just dropped on my leg, crushing. It stunned my entire body. I could barely move an inch. I could barely breathe straight. Underneath the stall, I could see the shooter's feet and his machine gun. It was nothing like I had ever seen. 

 

It was the first time I ever saw a machine gun in real life. I lifted my head from the floor. And Akira, she had her phone raised to her ear while she was bracing her bleeding arm. And I heard her say, “Please come get us. Please I've been shot.” I desperately hoped that her calls would save us all. Then, out of nowhere, the man said, “Get off your phones.” Not in a yelling voice, not angry voice. It was a calm voice, which was terrifying. 

 

I didn't dare pick up my phone. And besides, the only people I could call lived a thousand miles away. I was on vacation. It was the first time I left the state without telling my father. I started crying. I felt a hand rubbing my arm, trying to console me. I don't know whose hand it was, but I appreciate that hand so much. I tried to slide forward, but my right leg was bent and pinned under the man laying next to me. I asked him, “Please get off my leg. It's been shot.” But he was shot too, and couldn't move either. We needed someone to come save us, because there was absolutely nothing that we could do to save ourselves. 

 

It was going on 03:00 AM. We'd been lying in each other's blood for hours. Phones were ringing. They were making the shooter agitated. I found it harder to keep my eyes open. I wasn't sure if I was falling asleep or if I was dying. Then the phone rang, and rang and kept ringing. And then, the shooter started making his own calls to 911. He warned the police to stay away, claiming that if they didn't, he'd detonate the explosives he had in his car. 

 

At first, all I had to worry about was him shooting me again. But now, I feared being blown to pieces. I heard the shooter pacing. I could see his feet right outside of our stall door. I didn't want to die. But each time I heard him click his gun, I lost hope. I felt myself giving up. Laying in excruciating pain, makes you beg God to take the soul out of your body. It makes you pray and ask forgiveness. It makes you regret not saying all the things that you wanted to tell people, yet extremely grateful for the things that you did say. 

 

Suddenly, there was a loud boom. The entire building shook. Then there was another loud boom, even louder than the first. I just knew that this was it. I knew that I was about to die. I placed my hand in my mouth and clenched my fist in preparation for death. Then out of nowhere, a voiceover speaker shouted, “Get away from the walls.” The shooter ran into our stall and began firing at people. I didn't move. I didn't breathe. I just held my breath and clenched my fist. I felt the man next to me move closer. I felt their body pressed on my arm. And then, he shot again. I heard the man on top of me scream. Then there was another loud boom and the wall came crashing down. Debris covered my face, but I could still see a light shining through the hole in the wall. 

 

The police shouted for the man to put down his weapon. And then, the room erupted with gunfire, and lit up like a night sky on July 4th, then there was nothing. There was silence. When the police came in through the hole in the wall, I remember looking up at the officer with his armor and gun in complete shock. I was alive. I can still see the image of my legs on the stretcher against the backdrop of those closed ambulance doors engraved in my mind forever. The hospital was a blur, but I do remember the nurse handing me the phone. I memorized my father's number just in case I ever lost my phone in today, I was glad I did. 

 

The doctor explained the situation to my father. I had been shot in both legs, and the bullet that entered my right thigh shattered my femur bone. So, I was being taken into surgery. They handed the phone to me. I could just hear how confused he was. I tried my best to remain calm and clear. I didn't want my father to hear the fear in my voice like I heard the confusion in his. He always said, “You're going to be fine.” My dad was no doctor, but I believed him. I kept those words with me as I rolled into surgery. They were really the only thing that gave me hope. Tiara survived a gunshot to her side, but Akira didn't make it. 

 

Earlier that night, we were celebrating all of her successes. And now, she was gone. It was the first time I ever felt the sensation of someone just suddenly being gone. It's been three years since the shooting. I remember my first time walking again, I remember my first time going to school again, I remember my first time going to a club again and I remember my first time being happy again. But no matter how happy I am or how much stronger I feel, I always ask God, why? Even now, I can't believe that I survived. 49 people were killed. I think about the odds of the shooter not shooting me for a third time or the police not coming in when they did. I can't stop thinking about why me. Every day I think of that and every day I'm living to figure out the answer to that question. Thank you. 

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