6/12/2016 7:33AM I RECEIVED A TEXT THAT WOKE ME. The vibration of my phone irritating me out of sleep. I opened my eyes, slightly, grabbed my phone to look at the illuminated screen. It was from a friend that I consider a sister. We grew up together and we’d recently reconnected thanks to today’s obsession with social media. I figured, it’s not that important, I’ll check it out when I’m awake. I proceeded to go back to sleep…Or try.
Minutes later my phone vibrated again—zuuut zuuut zuuut. The vibration sequence is called heartbeat. Ironic for the news that I was about to receive once I checked my phone and had message after message of people asking if I was okay. Okay? I thought. I’m home in bed, did I do something or post something that would make me seem not okay?
That first message that woke me up, from my childhood friend, my sister, read something along the lines of: I read reports that there is a shooting at Pulse. Are you okay? I immediately checked my email as I’m on the mailing list for a local newspaper and they always send out emails for breaking news.
I don’t know if it was my body slipping into the “denial stage,” but I thought in my head that maybe it was just a dispute between two people. Maybe the shooting part was just some bystander’s exaggerated retelling. Maybe it was a blown speaker or something in the music. It was a false alarm, I thought as I scrolled my emails.
It didn’t take long for the headline to sear into my retinas! 20 killed in a mass shooting at Pulse Orlando.
I was wide awake now.
The text messages continued to pour in. Messages via an app I have poured in. Everyone concerned with my safety. Unfortunately for them they would have to wait for my response. There were four people that I had to contact immediately. First being my mother. My mom is a warrior. I knew that if she saw the news and didn’t get an immediate response from me, I could expect her already on a flight to Orlando. Most of my family currently resides in Pennsylvania.
My mother answered, half-asleep I think, and I warned her that if she watches the news she will see that there was a shooting at Pulse. I told her I don’t know very much other than it turned into a hostage situation and that 20 are already dead. But I told her that I am fine. I gave this same call to my brother and my grandparents. My father was the fourth phone call to make, but he beat me to the punch—or rather, the call. I told him that I am fine.
I was fine. I was fine until I crawled out of bed and hit online social media. I was fine until I saw a few videos of scrambling people and the sound of gunfire shooting through the speakers in the background. I was fine until I saw limp bodies being thrown in the backs of trucks that would rush them to the hospital—moments—so critical in saving lives.
I began, almost obsessively, checking status updates. Friends that would have gone to Pulse on a Saturday night. Friends that were working. I checked their pages. Most had already posted that they were okay and alive. Some had not. I scrolled and scrolled, entering names in searches. I texted, while answering my own concerned friends and family.
The support brought me to tears! Friends that I haven’t talked to since high school messaged to make sure I was okay. People that I wasn’t close to in school messaged me. Even people that I didn’t even know, knew, or cared, that I lived in Orlando and that I might be at a gay bar on a Saturday night for Latino night, called and messaged making sure I was okay. “You were the first person I thought of,” they’d say.
With this outpouring that brought me to tears, I made my own status to show that I was okay and trying to process. The next steps my mind would take were the darkest. If I had this outpouring of people worried and caring about me, what about the victims, the true victims, the people still covered with dead bodies inside the club, the ones that already passed, the dozens in intensive care. They had no way of telling loved ones and concerned friends that they were okay—or not.
My first time at Pulse was in 2006. I was in the Disney college program and a friend had brought me. I wasn’t single during my program so I stayed away from gay bars and pretty much any other types of temptation. But on this night my friend had begged me because he had no one else to go with. So I went. I watched a performer do a Buckcherry song. He had a huge mohawk and dark eye makeup. He was hanging from a bar that hung from the ceiling. It was very Coyote Ugly. I knew that I wanted to be like that man. I wanted to perform like that!
Years later, in 2008 I would return to Orlando to live for good. I had returned home after my Disney program to finish my degree. I kept a promise with one of my program roommates that we’d return and live together in Orlando once we got our educations. We did just that.
When I returned to Pulse this time, it was altogether different. Pulse had grown. The crowd was thick with happy excited people. The performers were actually drag queens, but one stood out to me and would soon become a mother of sorts in my own performance career.
I began performing at Pulse’s talent show, always really wanting to be a regular or a headliner. I got to scratch that itch at Pulse’s sister club, then called Revolution. I loved every minute of performing. I loved being creative and bringing something that I felt was different in the drag world. But I still always wanted to perform at Pulse. I always wanted to be a Pulse regular. Pulse was my home.
I started working at Pulse as a door host, hoping to meet the “higher ups” if you will. One year as door host quickly turned into three. It was my time as door host that I met the gay community of Orlando as a whole. I still did a little bit of performing here and there, but it was sparse because I was trying to build my professional career also. Drag and performing was simply a creative outlet.
Day two had come since the shooting. On the day of the shooting I mulled around my house, constantly answering text messages, constantly scrolling social media. I was a husk, empty, in shock. I went to work the night of the shooting hoping that it would help me get my mind off of Pulse, but a moment was all that it would allow.
I couldn’t shake the thoughts of what those people went through. A night of fun and carefree spirits dancing, drinking, and listening to music. So quickly, a night of bliss transformed into a night of terror! For an instant, and only for an instant I think of my friends and myself. What would we have done? Would we have made it? Before I can even get any other questions across my mind I think of the people that lived it! The people that were there and the fear they felt. It is these thoughts that bring me to uncontrollable tears! These people felt a level of terror that can never be duplicated. This act of hate has affected us all, but for these people it will haunt them. I can’t bare with these thoughts, so I force my mind to think of something else. I am unable, so I continue to scroll, I continue to read news articles. Anything to keep my mind occupied. To take out the fabricated gunshots and screams out of my mind because nothing that my imagination can think up could ever match what the true victims felt and heard.
Even throughout day two I refuse to look at any list. I refuse to watch or read first person accounts as they start trickling in. There is a vigil tonight. I will attend.
The vigil was a masterpiece. So many people came out to support. They came to support the families, the fallen, the rescuers and heroes. They came to support Orlando, the LGBTQ community, Pulse, and the Latinos and Muslims. For the first time ever in my life I felt like so many cultures, backgrounds, religions, and ideologies were finally coming together like the very basis of America was meant. It was overwhelming.
At the vigil they also named all of the 49 victims. I had finally heard the names. I had finally came to terms with who we lost.
As the door host to Pulse I had the opportunity to meet people like Deonka Deidra Drayton. I remember her always coming in so “hard” so, for lack of a better word, masculine. And I remember always trying to make her smile or giggle. You could always tell there was a good spirit behind that hard exterior.
Or Paul Terrell Henry who always made sure that he gave me a hug when he came in. He’d always ask me if he had to pay cover and I’d wave him through because he was always so nice. Minutes later he’d always be back with a bottled water for me, and a smile.
Eddie Jamoldroy Justice with his big smile. He was always surrounded by friends, all happy people.
Shane Evan Tomlinson who I had a crush on. He always gave me a hug, always gave me the best smile, and always brought a water or a drink for me after I let him in.
I may not have known any of them personally, but I recognize, as the entire world should, that we lost 49 brothers and sisters in this act of hate. My heart is in 49 pieces. This wasn’t just a massacre hurting Orlando…But anyone who has ever felt or given love.
Motives mean nothing to me. Actions always speak louder than words. The murderer will not be met with pronouns such as he or she, and I will never utter nor write its name…I don’t believe in giving evil a name.
Whether it was a supporter of otherworldly ideologies whose soul purpose is the take America down, whether it was just a bigot that hated and didn’t understand gays and a single kiss in Miami spun it out of control, or whether it was gay and was fighting the same internal battle that all gays fight in their life—its actions make it a murderer, a demon, a criminal that is not worth ANY of the “glory” through TV time, radio time, or internet posts that it is receiving.
For the last year and a half my performance dream had come true! I’d been performing regularly at Pulse on their Thursday nights. I had recently even started hosting every so often. I’m shaken to the core when I think that I’d just done a performance two nights before the shooting. It could easily have happened on my night. And with that thought, I think, that this could easily have happened anywhere at any time. Is this the climate that we live in? Is this expected of our times? Is this the new norm?
I’ve heard people say, “It was just Orlando’s time.” Orlando’s time!? Like we are all just taking turns to host mass shootings!? I hope we are ready to have open dialogue America. These acts of hate are our culture’s own cultivation. We are all a product of our family and our community. Why are we raising hateful, confused human beings? Are we not the most advanced animals on this planet?
What some people don’t understand is that to a gay person, a gay bar is a sanctuary. I’ve heard people say, “This is just too close to home.” No—this is home. I agree, it’s a strange place to call home, but since the rise of gay equality and rights, for most, the gay bar was the only place that we had to go to be completely ourselves without judgment. Even today in 2016 I couldn’t walk down the sidewalk holding my own boyfriend’s hand without receiving some skeptical looks from some people. Things are definitely changing, but after acts like this one we have to ask ourselves, are we really as far off as we should be?
I don’t have all the answers. No one does. The moment that you think you have all the answers you become ignorant. I hate that something this bad has to happen for Americans to actually wake up! I pray that this event doesn’t spark a short-fallen revolution where everyone is vocal now only to move on to the next big thing next week. America, we need to speak. We need to throw political correctness away and start having honest and serious conversations. Are we going to continue to harbor hate? Or are we going to finally make a change. Sayings like “love always conquers hate,” can only go so far without action.
I by no means believe that I am the most affected by this. Pulse is home for me, yes, but there are others who are closer to this than me…People lost brothers, sisters, daughters, and sons. I don’t wish to be glorified by this writing. I hope to open some questions. I hope to get people to stop immortalizing a villain. I hope to cram these names below in your head and get you to think that this could be your son, your daughter, your mother, your brother, your girlfriend—if you don’t start acting. What are you going to do to stop hate?
Please take a moment and read each and every name. Remember as Americans these were our people, these were our Latinos, these were our gays, these were our brothers and sisters, these were our citizens!
Edward Sotomayor Jr., 34
Stanley Almodovar III, 23
Luis Omar Ocasio-Capo, 20
Juan Ramon Guerrero, 22
Eric Ivan Ortiz-Rivera, 36
Peter O. Gonzalez-Cruz, 22
Luis S. Vielma, 22
Kimberly Morris, 37
Eddie Jamoldroy Justice, 30
Darryl Roman Burt II, 29
Deonka Deidra Drayton, 32
Alejandro Barrios Martinez, 21
Anthony Luis Laureanodisla, 25
Jean Carlos Mendez Perez, 35
Franky Jimmy Dejesus Velazquez, 50
Amanda Alvear, 25
Martin Benitez Torres, 33
Luis Daniel Wilson-Leon, 37
Mercedez Marisol Flores, 26
Xavier Emmanuel Serrano Rosado, 35
Gilberto Ramon Silva Menendez, 25
Simon Adrian Carrillo Fernandez, 31
Oscar A Aracena-Montero, 26
Enrique L. Rios Jr., 25
Miguel Angel Honorato, 30
Javier Jorge-Reyes, 40
Luis Daniel Conde, 39
Shane Evan Tomlinson, 33
Juan Chevez-Martinez, 25
Joel Rayon Paniagua, 32
Jason Benjamin Josaphat, 19
Cory James Connell, 21
Juan P. Rivera Velazquez, 37
Jerald Arthur Wright, 31
Leroy Valentin Fernandez, 25
Tevin Eugene Crosby, 25
Jonathan Antonio Camuy Vega, 24
Jean C. Nives Rodriguez, 27
Rodolfo Ayala-Ayala, 33
Brenda Lee Marquez McColl, 49
Yilmary Rodriguez Solivan, 24
Christopher Andrew Leinonen, 32
Angel L. Candelario-Padro, 28
Frank Hernandez, 27
Paul Terrell Henry, 41
Antonio Davon Brown, 29
Christopher Joseph Sanfeliz, 24
Akyra Monet Murray, 18
Geraldo A. Ortiz-Jimenez, 25
