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THOUSAND OAKS, Calif. — Still in their early 20s, these three young men have been through what anyone would view as a life-changing nightmare — twice. First came Las Vegas, in October 2017, when they pulled friends and strangers to safety, running along the Strip as bullets hailed from above. Then this November in Thousand Oaks, just miles from their childhood homes, a gunman killed 12 people at their favorite bar, the one they had gone to for comfort when they were recovering from Vegas.
Within a few hours, it became clear that many of the people who were there at the bar that night had just become members of a uniquely American group: survivors of two mass shootings. The day after, I spent hours trying to talk with these people I came to think of as double survivors. Understandably, they were in complete shock, unable to express much more than utterly stunned grief. One of their friends who had made it out with them in Las Vegas had not made it out of Borderline Bar & Grill, nestled into a small office park in Thousand Oaks.
In the days and weeks after the shooting, I thought often about them, eager to understand how they were attempting to make sense of something that seems so hard to fathom. I wanted to know what their friendships were like, how they were supporting each other. When I learned that they had been gathering with each other every night since then, I knew there was a deeper story to understand and tell.
When I reached out to them again, they were more than willing to talk. They had avoided reporters after Las Vegas but were frustrated that the Thousand Oaks shootings had fallen out of the spotlight so quickly, subsumed by the news of wildfires there — and the ever-quickening news cycle after mass shootings.
Our article focused on 22-year-old Brendan Kelly, who is just days away from shipping off to Afghanistan for his first tour of duty as a Marine. But I also spent time with David Anderson, then 23, and Dylan McNey, 22.
In listening to the stories of these three friends, I was struck by their different reactions to two of the most violent incidents in the last 12 months. They reminded me that we each experience fear and trauma in distinct ways, processing it on our own timeline and terms. All three have tried to move on, to launch into their adult lives, but they have inevitably been thrust in new directions, ones that are not always predictable and not always bad.
Mr. Kelly is almost defiant, embracing another set of risks as a Marine.
As mass shootings have become more common, so have the stories in their aftermath — and their similarities can lead the public to tune out. Mr. Kelly’s defiance made him uniquely compelling, in this uniquely American moment: surviving a massacre here to go fight on a battlefield where the country has been engaged nearly his entire life.
But after the story was published, I began reflecting on the two young men I’d left out of it.
It is often the quieter characters I meet in the course of my reporting who stay with me and keep me thinking late into the night. So much of life is in the gray areas, in how we go on with mundane daily tasks after a life-altering event. That’s why I found Mr. Kelly’s two friends so compelling.
Mr. Anderson sees fear as something to manage: Next week he will begin a course to become a firefighter, a nearly lifelong dream.
And Mr. McNey, in some ways, avoids fear: After Las Vegas, he dropped out of the community college that had recruited him as a member of the track team and is now working as a carpenter.
When I asked Mr. McNey when he had begun to feel as though his life was back to normal after the 2017 shooting, he answered quickly, as though he had already given it a lot of thought: “About a month before the shooting at Borderline,” he said. He calls his work now his first “real adult” job, one that he hopes will turn into a career.
For the last several weeks, the three have spent countless nights together — at memorials for the friends who were killed, at local bars where they are sometimes greeted as hometown heroes, at each others’ homes. Sometimes they speak in explicit terms about the gruesomeness they have seen. But not always. More often, they are simply showing up, embracing each other with a kind of silent grief.
At the same time, they all seemed to welcome long, detailed conversations with me, both to explain and to speculate about how these events have reshaped them. More than once, I smiled as they spoke about the same challenges any 20-something has with dating, their relationship complications compounded as they navigate their grief. I hope to stay in touch with them as they continue to build their adult lives, with all the trials that entails.
None of what they have experienced has altered their worldview — they are still deeply skeptical of arguments for stricter gun controls; if anything, they say, more “good guys” should be allowed to carry firearms in California.
They have each nurtured close relationships with their family, though they don’t always speak to them about exactly how they’re feeling.
When I asked Mr. Anderson’s mother how he had changed in the last year, she also did not hesitate: “His eyes,” she said. He gets a far-off look sometimes, as though he is thinking about something she could never understand. And that, she understands, is true.
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【本】【来】【海】【神】【唐】【三】【的】【意】【思】【是】【叫】【小】【舞】【在】【找】【到】【唐】【舞】【桐】【后】【就】【立】【马】【把】【她】【带】【回】【神】【界】【去】【的】，【但】【唐】【舞】【桐】【在】【得】【知】【大】【陆】【不】【安】【全】【以】【后】，【死】【活】【不】【肯】【跟】【着】【自】【己】【的】【妈】【妈】【回】【去】，【非】【说】【要】【和】【霍】【雨】【浩】【在】【一】【起】。 【还】【说】【什】【么】【爱】【呀】【爱】【呀】，【死】【也】【要】【死】【在】【一】【起】【的】【话】。 【看】【着】【这】【和】【当】【年】【的】【自】【己】【简】【直】【一】【模】【一】【样】【的】【女】【儿】，【小】【舞】【哪】【里】【能】【忍】【心】【拒】【绝】【她】。 【想】【着】，【虽】【然】【带】【凡】【人】【进】【入】
【每】【一】【天】，【他】【都】【会】【跟】【她】【来】【说】【话】，【说】【一】【说】【小】【时】【候】【的】【事】【情】，【说】【一】【说】【留】【学】【的】【故】【事】，【说】【一】【说】【每】【天】【的】【经】【历】。 “【我】【记】【得】，【我】【刚】【去】【留】【学】【的】【时】【候】，【总】【有】【人】【跟】【在】【我】【身】【后】，【我】【还】【很】【冷】【漠】【的】【去】【警】【告】【了】【你】，【却】【没】【有】【想】【过】，【原】【来】【我】【一】【直】【找】【的】【你】，【竟】【然】【就】【在】【我】【身】【后】。” “【你】【为】【什】【么】【不】【告】【诉】【我】？【如】【果】【早】【点】【相】【遇】，【我】【们】【就】【不】【会】【这】【样】。” “【司】【小】【墨】【总】
【雨】【纷】【纷】，【声】【震】【震】，【江】【宁】【城】【外】【也】【开】【始】【拥】【挤】【起】【来】，【一】【架】【马】【车】【被】【阻】【挡】【在】【城】【门】【外】【不】【得】【而】【入】。 “【红】【姗】，【怎】【么】【回】【事】？” 【一】【位】【穿】【着】【白】【色】【披】【风】【的】【女】【子】【轻】【轻】【挑】【开】【马】【车】【帘】【子】【望】【着】【外】【面】【的】【人】【群】，【优】【雅】【高】【贵】【的】【气】【质】【让】【周】【围】【的】【人】【不】【禁】【朝】【着】【马】【车】【这】【边】【望】【来】。 【若】【不】【是】【马】【车】【由】【四】【个】【身】【穿】【铠】【甲】【的】【护】【卫】【护】【着】，【此】【刻】【人】【群】【早】【已】【拥】【挤】【过】【来】。【在】【这】【混】【乱】【的】【世】2017九龙全年历史图库“【人】【类】”【这】【个】【词】，【不】【是】【我】【们】【创】【造】【的】，【而】【是】【与】【生】【俱】【来】【的】。 【两】【个】【月】【后】，【一】【颗】【蔚】【蓝】【色】【的】【星】【球】【出】【现】【在】【众】【人】【的】【视】【线】【中】，【在】【这】【浩】【瀚】【无】【垠】、【茫】【茫】【黑】【暗】【的】【太】【空】【中】，【它】【显】【得】【是】【那】【么】【清】【澈】【明】【亮】。 【那】【就】【是】【彼】【岸】【星】！【人】【们】【开】【始】【欢】【呼】【起】【来】。 【半】【个】【月】【后】，【他】【们】【到】【达】【彼】【岸】【星】【的】【伴】【星】（【联】【合】【空】【间】【站】）。 【在】【这】【里】【观】【看】【彼】【岸】【星】，【它】【更】【加】【宏】【伟】【壮】【丽】
【神】【弈】【拍】【了】【拍】【手】【上】【的】【灰】，【垂】【眸】【一】【笑】。 【突】【然】【他】【口】【袋】【里】【的】【手】【机】【响】【了】，【他】【拿】【出】【手】【机】，【居】【然】【还】【是】【医】【院】【打】【来】【的】【电】【话】，【他】【接】【起】【后】【五】【秒】，【挂】【了】【电】【话】【倏】【地】【站】【了】【起】【来】。 “【怎】【么】【了】？”【厉】【辞】【也】【站】【了】【起】【来】，【与】【他】【平】【视】。 “【大】【局】【醒】【了】”【神】【弈】【转】【身】【下】【了】【天】【台】，【厉】【辞】【紧】【随】【其】【后】。 【大】【局】【他】【还】【是】【知】【道】【的】，【本】【名】【顾】【千】【秋】，【当】【时】【医】【院】【给】【顾】【千】【秋】【打】【电】
【克】【莱】【梅】【尔】【用】【圣】【光】【裁】【决】【破】【坏】【了】【藤】【条】，【接】【连】【射】【出】【的】【两】【道】【炽】【白】【光】【束】【都】【被】【萨】【恩】【躲】【开】。 【见】【攻】【击】【不】【到】【萨】【恩】，【克】【莱】【梅】【尔】【嘴】【唇】【微】【动】，【一】【段】【复】【杂】【咒】【语】【从】【口】【中】【念】【出】，【看】【的】【萨】【恩】【心】【中】【一】【惊】。 【达】【到】【传】【奇】【级】【别】【释】【放】【魔】【法】【根】【本】【就】【不】【需】【要】【咒】【语】，【萨】【恩】【从】【领】【域】【被】【压】【制】【时】【就】【感】【觉】【出】【克】【莱】【梅】【尔】【可】【能】【不】【止】【传】【奇】【那】【么】【简】【单】。 【而】【能】【让】【克】【莱】【梅】【尔】【这】【个】【最】【少】【传】【奇】