A series of essays.....
![]()  | 
| ~MICHAEL CAVNA TELLS US THAT HEATHER'S FAVORITE COLOR WAS VIOLET~ A SIMPLE NOTE THAT OFFERS A PRIVATE LOOK INTO THE LIFE OF HEATHER HEYER  | 
.....as seen through my eyes!
By: Jacqueline E. Hughes
I've noticed that each time I connect with my Facebook Timeline and scroll down 
reading everything I can, an interesting thing happens that I have absolutely no 
control over. You may have experienced this, as well. 
At first, I am concentrating so diligently on each post 
that I'm oblivious to it. Then the broiling inner emotions make me feel 
physically ill and I can feel my facial expressions taking on an unusual 
life of their own. It takes me a while to even begin to understand what's going on. But, when 
I do, I can feel my face twisting and contorting, my lips begin to pucker and purse, 
and my eyes crinkle and squint as my forehead wrinkles like the loose skin of a 
wrinkly Pug puppy. 
![]()  | 
| ~WRINKLY PUG PUPPY~ | 
This, as I understand it, is not acting; this is 
reacting. I am responding, frame by frame, to the content and extent of the information that has been presented to me and in such a way that my acknowledgement of 
this information adopts its own style. My emotions are captured, dare I say, 
possessed, by the most egregious and flagrant violations of human rights and 
decency that our country has recently experienced. If you don't count the early 
morning hours of November, 9, 2016, that is.
Heather Heyer.
As if I were watching an M. Night Shyamalan movie, the 
Indian American film director known for making movies with contemporary 
supernatural plots and surprise endings, firmly entrenched within my own set of 
fear and fascination, I become impervious to my surroundings. My attention is 
focused on the next move on the screen, a black shadow flickering in the upper 
left-hand corner, the dark, dense feeling in the pit of my stomach, and (once 
again) my facial expressions as my brain takes in the multiple nuances 
chronicled in each scene. A pronounced squint becomes my preferred mask-like 
face for the next hour and a half.
This is, precisely, my reaction to the posts on Facebook 
from the past several days! If truth be told, within the past year or more.
How does it begin? Will it ever end or, at least, be 
contained enough to not be as blatantly and brazenly splashed before our eyes 
like acidic liquid the deep, crimson color of blood? Hatred...unrestrained by a sense of shame; rudely bold, and 
justified by many while they tout the uniform (white polo shirts and khaki 
pants) and carry a burning torch in the day or night. 
![]()  | 
| HER BEAUTIFUL FACE.....! | 
Hate is a word we teach our children not to use. Hate is 
an emotion that, if allowed to control us, has the power to turn us inside out 
as if our internal organs were exposed and we begin to associate the natural 
beauty and goodness of our world as a 'punch in the gut.' Hatemongers 
misinterpret the love of family and friends as reprehensible behavior and 
disassociate themselves from them with the need for a more tangible cause; one 
that justifies the sense of power bursting forth like molten lava from deep 
within their darkening souls.
Heather Heyer.
While under the influence of hate, they seek other 
haters because hate in large quantities helps to substantiate their cause. While 
strengthening their beliefs and affording themselves more power and more intense reasons to 
hate, the haters find safety in numbers; justified by the comfort of an 
administration that clings to them as life supports within a churning sea of 
dissolution and destruction of the 'law of the land' as we know it.
Even writing about hate right now has gotten to me and I 
feel my face contorting into 'facial yoga' expressions that I usually reserve 
for driving alone in the car, protected by the thought that what happens in the 
car stays in the car. Silly me. Vestiges of 'The Scream' painted by Edvard Munch 
begin to dissolve before me as I, too, feel a whiff of melancholy while sitting here 
thinking about his accompanying poem, "I remained behind - Shivering with 
Anxiety - and feeling the infinite Scream in Nature." Edvard Munch
![]()  | 
| 'THE SCREAM' "FEELING THE INFINITE SCREAM IN NATURE"  | 
Heather Heyer could be my own daughter, my friend, the 
girl next door. For each of her thirty-two years on this earth, I thank her that 
many times over and over for holding the goodness in life to a higher standard 
than the sadness of hatred and strife. For this alone, Heather is a hero. Little 
did she know that she would be making the ultimate sacrifice for all that she 
believed in and held so dear to her heart by
giving her own life towards the justification of equality and compassion.
giving her own life towards the justification of equality and compassion.
As I type her name again, Heather Heyer, not wishing to 
forget it...ever, I am becoming more conscious of my emotions. The inevitable 
tears are welling up, rising to the surface, ready to flow. My facial 
expressions soften, become more relaxed this time, and my breathing is deeper, more 
sustained. 
Repeating her name, Heather Heyer, out loud is calming. 
Her kindness, sweetness, and caring for others is like an invisible salve 
spreading across the earth; angel wings floating above the weak and the 
wretched, the loving and kind spirited, alike. I don't know what Heather's voice 
sounds like and, I, more than likely, never will. But, I do know this for 
certain...when we close our eyes and feel the love, experience the hope, and 
hear the voice of comfort, we will know it is Heather's and she is telling us 
not to worry, it's going to be okay!
Copyright © 2017 by Jacqueline E. Hughes
All rights reserved 




