No, I didn't see the trigger being pulled, the bullet finding the wound and entering it, the swoon of metal meeting flesh. By the time I turned to look the facts were on the ground and the woman was leaving. Which is to say I missed it, as usual. Death is elsewhere.
Afterwards you took down our names and phone numbers, said we might be called as witnesses.
But you never called.
I suppose it's better to live in the shadow of tragedy than in the shadow of greatness. At least this way what you feel is not envy, but smallness. As though your existence didn't matter, and this was something to be grateful for.
If you had called me I would have answered, would have taken the stand reluctantly, would have told you everything I know, which would have proved too little. We would have walked away from the moment without conviction, knowing our doubts were reasonable and our reasons doubtful.
Just once I would like to say "It was me. I did it. I'm the one you want."
After that, I would go quietly.