Just Allergies

It’s just allergies, I think to myself on my walk to work, making my way to the campus of a law school in the downtown core of the city. The mighty blooming gingko trees outside our small rowhouse had covered our entire street in a thick, olive-green dust, which certainly was the reason behind my running nose and watering eyes. Oh, how I envy people who can simply exist during the spring without the assistance of Zyrtec and Flonase. 

Droplets begin to pour from my eyes as I reach the halfway point of my morning commute. Surely these tears weren’t for the six innocent lives lost at an elementary school yesterday in Tennessee, right? That feels so far from my reality as I trudge onward in the rising morning humidity. I justify my thoughts, thinking of how I live far away from rural Tennessee, and how I don’t even have kids. It’s just allergies, I reiterate as the last of my mascara is rubbed onto the back of my hand.

I wipe my nose as I continue on, catching glimpses of the beautiful spring tulips and daffodils popping up between buildings, their brightly colored petals mocking my discomfort. Surely these cheerful flowers, exuding pollen with every slight gust of wind, were the true culprits. They were the cause of my tears last May too, right? It couldn’t have been the eighteen-year-old who decided to ravage the elementary school in Uvalde, Texas. Curse you, ragweed.

I reach my workplace with a sigh of relief. As I enter the office building and begin climbing the stairs to the fifth floor, my floral enemies vanish instantly. Yet, my tears remain, steady as a flowing river. 

Perhaps, these tears are trickling out because of something more than just allergies. Perhaps, it is for the countless lives lost to gun violence, and the fear of that one day becoming my own reality. Much like my invisible allergens, I think I have had enough. Perhaps my tears are for a little more than just allergies.