ABSTRACT
Do you remember where you were when you received the news of the terrorist attacks in New York on September 11? When details of 9/11 began to emerge, I remember sitting in my tenth-grade history class, probably drifting off into some daydream, as usual; another student walked into the room and whispered to my teacher the details of the events that had just transpired; awestruck and tearful, my teacher repeated this information to us. A cold sensation of fear and confusion filled my body, as I immediately thought of my family and the harm that could befall them. I cried to my mother on the phone when I got home, praying someone would hurry to our house and ease my tension. Fast forward to June thirteenth, 2016. We find me sitting in a pew at an LGBTQ (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer/Questioning)-friendly church in Richmond, a rare occasion for me. On this day, something had pulled me into the building. A member of the congregation greeted everyone graciously and began to cry as she relayed the information of a shooting that had occurred in a gay nightclub in Orlando, Florida. I had not watched the news or read anything on social media before entering the church doors that morning, so I was completely oblivious to these details. I felt nauseated at the sheer fact that such an occurrence took place, but I also felt curious if it happened to be the same night club at which my friends and I had danced a few years back; my curiosity was confirmed when I received a text that read: “Did you hear about Pulse?”
