Second Flags
By Annette L. Brown
I was slicing tomatoes from the garden, their rich juice nearly overwhelming the grooves in the cutting board, when I heard the story of Lauri Ann Carleton’s murder. I stopped to make sure I heard correctly, my knife hovering mid cut. Yes, Lauri Ann Carleton, 66 years old, died August 18, 2023 in Lake Arrowhead, California. Story details could not escape my ears when CNN broke for commercial: The Mag.Pi clothing store . . . a confrontation over a Pride flag . . . a man with a gun.
My husband, my dinner-prep partner, reached for me, rested his warm hand on my lower back as we stared at the TV. I remember wondering, What is happening to us? Sometimes, when I watch the news, I do not recognize my own country—the people I’ve imagined us to be.
Though not a member herself, Lauri Ann Carleton raised a Pride flag in honor of the LGBTQ+ community—a community defined by diversity and acceptance. She had been asked by various townsfolk to remove her flag. She refused. I imagined her pulling her Rainbow from its sleepy quarters each morning, placing it in its storefront holder, watching it catch the breeze. It fluttered there, a symbol of peace, defying those unable or unwilling to recognize its meaning.
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In war, people fight for flags, or at least for what they symbolize. I remember visiting the Marine Corp War Memorial in Washington D.C.—the sculptured image of six men pushing into place the second flag to be raised on Mt. Suribachi during the WWII battle at Iwo Jima. The first was not large enough to be seen across the island, not large enough to render the response to the second—gunshots of celebration and cries of joy from soldiers fighting on land and sailors in ships just offshore.
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The cries over Lauri Ann Carleton’s loss lacked celebration. The gunman killed a wife-mother-friend-community advocate, then fled the scene. Police followed. Now he’s dead. I wonder what fear terrorized the shooter’s heart, what war waged within, so horrific he had to kill over that flag. Community members mourned Lauri Ann Carleton by crowding her storefront with flowers, sidewalk-chalk messages, and Pride flags—the display, a greater rainbow than could ever be contained by a single flag. I studied the image of her shop until the explosion of color, ironically initiated by the gunmen, grew into a vice constricting my breath.
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The day I visited the Marine Corp War Memorial was hot and humid. I remember at one point a gust of wind wrapped loosely around the inside of my collar, lifting the hair from my neck. When I closed my eyes to receive that cooling restorative, I could almost hear the snap of the war memorial’s flag whipping in the chilled February wind of 1945; I could imagine how battling soldiers were lifted by the tendrils of hope streaming from the stars and stripes, though the battle waged on for weeks.
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When her family left Lauri Ann Carleton’s body at the hospital, a new flag, secure in its delivery packaging, awaited them on the porch. She died over a flag she had planned to replace, the colors the gunman despised, too faded for her commitment.
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Sometimes watching the news stings my eyes, hitches my breath. Still, I don’t seem to look away. Scientists who study these things report people respond more intensely to negative stories than to positive as measured by changes in heart rate and the electrical conductivity of skin. But some things have no accurate ruler. They cling to memory in immeasurable ways.
I didn’t go to Lake Arrowhead, didn’t see individuals placing rainbow gifts at the Mag.Pi storefront. I couldn’t tell if there were any gusts of wind. Yet I cannot forget. I wonder if Lauri Ann Carleton’s new flag is still nestled in the dark of its packaging. I suppose it doesn’t matter. That second flag doesn’t need to flutter from a pole for its tendrils to stretch hope toward us.
Annette L. Brown is a personal essayist and creative nonfiction writer who has pieces reflecting her love of nature, family, beauty, and humor in several publications including Flash Fiction Magazine, Every Day Fiction, several volumes of the Personal Story Publishing Project (Randell Jones) and in Bad Day Book, Parenting. Annette is grateful for the support and friendship of her writing group, the Taste Life Twice Writers.
Photo credits: Pride flag by Cecilie Bomstad on Unsplash.
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