Uvalde, Texas
CNN
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The four large mirrors on the wall of a town house usually capture the smiles and laughter of families as they gather for a hot meal among neighbors. Tonight, they reflect all angles of heartbreak.
Tan booths and dark wood tables overflow with diners at this family-style restaurant. It’s hard for servers to squeeze in when they take orders and refill empty glasses. Despite the crowd, it’s uncomfortably quiet.
What is there to say?
A day ago a gunman 19 children and two teachers brutally murdered A few miles down the road at an elementary school – and nothing will be the same.
“They were just kids,” whispers one woman, her body moving toward the large television in the center of the dining room.
“Just kids,” echoed the two men sitting beside him.
It’s tuned for the evening news, caught in a merciless loop of dead children’s faces and no one will forget the gruesome details of the Texas massacre.
Town House co-owner Juan Martínez has served the community for more than 40 years. He had never seen it so sad, so torn. People are crying in every nook and corner of the restaurant famous for its comfort food.
“It’s dark and heavy,” introduces waitress Christie Marsh. “But this is not always the case; We are a family here. People are usually happy, come to listen to music and eat together. But it’s dark now.”
Marsh can’t stop picturing the carnage in his mind. She is forgetting the order and walking in the mist. There is a shortage of staff in the restaurant because five children related to the employees were killed in the slaughter, she says, and her allies are outside, mourning their dead. The servants who had come pat him on the back for crying.
Across the restaurant, a woman is sitting with her partner for a cup of coffee. Her eyes haven’t moved from the television screen, and tears flow silently. His drink has definitely gone cold, as he hasn’t had a sip all night.
Hours pass, the sun slowly sets, a shadow falls on the town house. More patrons come.
“I can feel the sadness from everyone today,” says waiter Aaron Gonzalez, before jumping back into the flurry of serving fajitas and country fried steak. “I’m sure the city where the school shooting took place was very similar to ours: it’s a small town, we never expected it, why should we? It’s got to be hard to accept.”
One by one, diners stand up and walk to the register to pay their bills. Tonight, the cashier’s first question isn’t “How do you want to be paid?” rather than “how are you feeling?”
Some can’t bear to answer and just shake their heads in disbelief. Others share stories – they know someone who died, someone who was in the building, someone who would never send their child to that school again.
“I don’t know how to proceed,” says one person as he signs a credit card receipt.
But the world goes on, here too. The servers continue to make their rounds, asking: “Would you like some more tea?” “Ketchup for your fry?”