So in this chapter, I am telling a story in a story. The story, which really happened 26 years ago, is one of heartbreak and devastation but also one of hope and endurance. I moved to Oklahoma in the middle of 2019 just before Toy Story 4 came out in theaters and did not fully learn of this event until 1 1/3 years later. I hope I did this event justice. Everything that Justine is describing here is exactly how I felt when I went through this myself. So here we go.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything related to "Toy Story," I only own Justine.
April 19, 2040
"Justine, wake up."
I woke up to my daddy shaking me awake, but instead of a smile, there was a somber look on his face.
"Daddy, what's wrong?" I asked. "Is Mother okay?"
"Oh, no! Your mother is fine! It's just that… I told Dolly that you weren't going to school until this afternoon."
"Wait, why?" I asked, rubbing my eyes.
"I want to show you something, and I want us both to learn. Can you be ready to leave in thirty minutes? I'll get Bullseye and Genevieve ready."
I watched my daddy leave the room, and I got up to pick out a dress.
"By the way, I'd put on something respectful," Daddy said, poking his head back in the room.
"Something respectful? What does that mean?"
"You'll see."
I rolled my eyes as my daddy left the room again, and I picked out a white peasant dress. I put my brown belt around my waist with a golden belt buckle over it, and then I put on brown cowgirl boots. My brown hat was downstairs on the hat stand, so I would grab that later. I went down the stairs to see what was for breakfast.
"Good morning, Mother."
"Good morning, Justine," Mother replied. "I made a light breakfast for you this morning. You and Daddy are going for quite a ride today."
"Did Daddy say where we were going?" I asked, taking a bite of my toast.
"Oklahoma City."
I spit out my milk in surprise.
"Are you alright?" Mother asked me.
"Yeah, I'm fine, but the fair isn't until September."
"That's right."
"So why the sudden trip to Oklahoma City?" I asked with confusion, now eating my applesauce.
"Daddy told me not to say until you two come back. Whatever he is showing you is very special to the state of Oklahoma."
I finished my breakfast and my milk, and my daddy came inside to put on his brown cowboy hat. He grabbed my brown hat and handed it to me.
"Are you ready, Justine?"
"Yes?" I answered with uncertainty.
"Is something wrong?" Daddy asked with a frown.
"I just wanna know why we're going to the city. And why so sudden?"
"You'll understand in two hours."
"TWO HOURS?" I shouted.
"Horses can run just as fast as a car going 60 miles an hour," Daddy replied. "It's a two-hour ride to Oklahoma City. So let's get going."
We walked outside to greet our horses.
"Ride like the wind, Bullseye!" I yelled.
"Giddy-up, Genevieve!" Daddy yelled at his horse. "To the West!"
We rode across the plains and hills of Oklahoma as fast as our horses could possibly go while the orange sun was rising. We did give our horses a break at Wewoka Lake before continuing our ride to Oklahoma City. When the city was in sight, we took another break to see the skyline from the east. After admiring the city, we rode north through the city of McLoud and turned back to the west as the sun turned gold.
"Follow me, Justine!" Dad yelled.
Bullseye and I followed my daddy and his steed Genevieve through the northern part of the city until we approached the most interesting doorway I had ever seen in my life. We tied the reins by the bus stop, as there was no fence here.
"Daddy, where are we?" I asked.
"Take off your hat and look up," Daddy encouraged me.
"There's a message on the door," I said, looking up in awe. "We come here to remember those who were killed, those who survived, and those changed forever. May all who leave here know the impact of violence. May this memorial offer comfort, strength, peace, hope and serenity."
I paused, soaking in those words.
"This is a memorial?" I asked. "Daddy, is this another one of those veteran memorials I see in all the towns?"
"No, Justine," Daddy answered, his somber voice coming back. "Forty-five years ago today, a day that started out peacefully and full of innocence turned into a time of disaster and healing. Someone created a truck bomb that killed 168 innocent American citizens."
"What?"
I placed a hand over my heart, wondering what we did to deserve an attack like this all those years ago.
"Dolly is covering this event in class today. But me, I want to show you what happened."
We walked up the ramps and stairs through the door, and ahead was one of the most somber but beautiful sights I had ever seen. Ahead was a pool with another doorway behind the pool. There was also a message on the door, but it only said 9:03. To my right was the biggest elm tree I had ever seen with blossoms on the branches, and there was an orchard behind the tree. To my left was a whole bunch of chairs on green grass.
"Daddy, why are all the chairs there?" I asked.
"Those chairs represent the 168 citizens that are no longer with us because of the bomb," Daddy answered. "The chair was chosen as a symbol that a family lost one or more of their loved ones. Family dinners were never the same for them because of these events. Now, look up behind you."
I turned around and looked up to see 9:01 etched in the door. Then I saw a connection between the two doors and the pool.
"Daddy, do you suppose the pool means… 9:02?"
"Yes, 9:02 in the morning of April 19, 1995, the moment that everything changed forever. 9:01 was the last minute of innocence before the bomb went off at 9:02. Healing began the minute after – 9:03. The people who have come here over the years to see their reflection in the pool is a person changed forever."
"I take it there were survivors?" I asked.
"Follow me."
I followed my daddy to the left, and we saw two huge granite plaques on the wall.
"This wall represents what was left of the Alfred P. Murrah federal building," Daddy explained while I took a look at leftover damage caused by the bomb. "The plaques list the name of every survivor in that building and the surrounding area."
"I have never seen a memorial that honors those that survived before," I replied.
We turned around and walked alongside the reflecting pool with the chairs on our left. As I looked at the chairs, not all equal as there were nine rows with a different number of chairs in each row, I noticed that some of the chairs were smaller than the others.
"Daddy, there were children in the building," I said, tears coming to my eyes. "How can this monster be so cruel as to kill innocent children?"
"Because a monster only thinks about himself," Daddy replied with some anger in his voice. "This monster thought the government was responsible for the actions at Waco two years before and decided to scare the government by destroying a building. He did not care about the people in it, not even the children."
Daddy let out a sigh as we examined all the chairs. I noticed that each chair had the name of a fallen victim engraved on it.
"Some of the women who were killed were pregnant and ready to start a family," Daddy continued. "Some had just gotten married. Some were ready to retire. And the younger people… they were just starting to live their lives. The children never got a chance to grow because of this act."
We finished examining the last five chairs, which we learned represented people who were killed outside the building, and then we made our way to the orchard.
"But there was also hope in this act because of how the people of Oklahoma reacted. Emergency services were dispatched right away. Citizens didn't run away from the building; they ran toward the destruction, ready to help. They gave blood, they gave food, they took off their own shoes and put them on the feet of the victims. Doctors had to use the minimal amount of tools possible to save lives. This event was covered all around the globe."
"Daddy, what were you doing when this happened?" I asked out of curiosity.
"I was only a toy then," Daddy answered. "Andy's mom was pregnant with Molly when news broke out of the bombing. Andy was playing with me when he noticed his mom crying, and he took me with him to comfort her."
I saw a smile form on Daddy's face.
"I remember him telling his mom: don't worry, Woody is here to save the day. She held me so tight in her arms then. Then she asked me to promise her that nothing would happen to Andy."
"Wait, did she know that you came to life when no one was present?" I asked, knowing all of the stories of my parents as toys.
"No, but Andy was seven. Children believe that their toys are alive. Toys give children an imagination they never thought they would have. Because of that, I felt alive whenever me and my friends were played with. Andy's mom was a fantastic mom. She played along with Andy and his imagination. Ever since that day in 1995, I promised myself and Andy's mom that I would look after Andy."
"Did you fulfill that promise?" I asked.
"Well, yes, until Andy went away to college. Then Bonnie came along, and well, things happened and here we are. And now, I have you and your mother to look after."
"How did you know about this?" I asked as we approached what the memorial called the Survivor Tree.
"I had travelled west when I saw this place. I never went in the museum, but just exploring this place opened my eyes not only to the destruction that happened here, but also the hope that endured throughout this ordeal. Then I learned that this memorial is one of the symbols of endurance for the state of Oklahoma. But I was hesitant on showing you until now."
Daddy paused, putting his hands on my shoulders underneath the Survivor Tree.
"The world is a dangerous place, Justine. Evil things can happen, like this, if good people do nothing."
"I remember you saying that before, Daddy, but how can I stop something bad from happening?"
"By being the kind soul you are, Justine. Show kindness to other people, especially if they are having a bad day. If you do not show enough kindness, then a person can go down a dark path that can become impossible to come out of. But that also means educating others on our history and showing them tough love when they need it. There were three partners of Timothy McVeigh – one that helped him create the bomb, and two others, a husband and wife, who failed to report this to the police before the bombing happened."
"So a bad thing happened because these people did not tell the police?"
"That's right. The police could have arrested Timothy McVeigh before the bomb was ever placed in front of the building."
We looked out from the Survivor Tree to the field of empty chairs ahead with the reflecting pool and the two gates in front of it.
"Daddy, I want to go in the museum."
"Are you sure?" Daddy asked.
"I have a feeling the museum has more to tell," I replied. "I have so many questions about this."
"Well, then let's go. I have some learning to do myself."
We went to the side of the museum with another message:
Team 5
4-19-95
We search for the truth
We seek justice.
The Courts require it.
The Victims cry for it.
And GOD Demands it!
"One of the rescue teams created this message on the journal record building," Daddy explained as we continued walking.
We eventually found the entrance to the museum, but not before I saw children's handprints on numerous tiles.
"Daddy, are these the handprints of the children that were killed?" I asked with sadness.
"No, Justine. Children from the surrounding communities sent those to show their sympathy toward the children and their families. The children from around the country and around the world also showed their sympathy with their unique ways. Well, let's go inside."
We paid for the admission, and we spent the rest of the morning in the museum. We explored the exhibits on how April 19, 1995 started out as a calm, peaceful spring day. We listened to the only recording that captured the bomb exploding, and we explored the damage that the bombing caused. One item that stood out to me in that exhibit was a clock with the hands stuck at 9:02. We explored the stories of the survivors, how they rescued the victims of the building and how they recovered the bodies of those who did not make it. We learned of how the search and rescue, as well as federal investigations, lasted a month before the remains of the building were torn down. A picture of a firefighter recovering the body of a one-year-old girl captured my eye, and I was crying a bucket of water. I also cried at the story of how a nurse came to Oklahoma City to rescue victims only to die herself of falling debris. We also learned the story of Timothy McVeigh, the domestic terrorist who destroyed the building with the truck bomb, how he was formally of the US Army and the actions of Waco drove him to commit this act of terrorism. He had been tried in a neutral city and sentenced to be executed six years later. His partner was sentenced to life in prison, while other witnesses were placed in the witness protection program.
The last things we came upon were damages to an employee's ruined office and a smaller memorial to the 168 victims who had died. There was one sentence next to the pictures of each victim that best described them, and there was also an item of memoriam that described them best. We then explored the gift shop. I had bought a seedling of the elm tree that was outside, and I also bought a decorative coin recognizing the 45th year since the bombing.
We went out of the museum, and I saw an old-fashioned fence on the other side of the 9:03 door.
"Daddy, there's a fence over there."
We walked toward the fence where we saw lots of memorabilia placed on the fence. There were a variety of things on the fence, such as race bibs, scarves, toys, old hotel room keys, teddy bears, and even decorated wreaths with pictures of the victims inside the wreaths. We walked on toward Fourth Street and we saw numerous staircases leading upstairs.
"There's another floor?" I asked out loud, and then started to go up the stairs.
"Justine, where are you going?" Daddy asked, following me.
I reached the top of the stairs where I saw a sign ahead of me. I walked toward the sign to read it, and it revealed that I was looking at the playground that was part of the children's daycare on the second floor.
"Daddy, the daycare was up here," I said, the sadness coming back to my voice.
"Holy cow," Daddy replied in awe. "I did not know this was here."
We continued to look around. We saw emblems representing the various federal services the building carried, including the five branches of the United States military. We saw the same flagpole that was part of the building all those years ago with the flag still flying high. We walked back toward the memorial, and there was a sign on the ground that read: "This was the location of the south entry to the second floor of the Alfred P. Murrah Building from the plaza level."
"This was the second floor," I gasped.
I looked ahead to see the field of empty chairs right below us, the reflecting pool and the two gates beyond the field, and the rescuer's orchard, the Survivor Tree and the museum straight ahead. I had finally noticed that the field of empty chairs were surrounded by pine trees, standing tall.
"We should head home," Daddy suggested.
I stepped back from the glass wall, finally putting a smile on my face as I grasped the true lesson from the Oklahoma City National Memorial & Museum: kindness and hope always endures.
"Agreed," I replied. "Thanks for taking me here, Daddy. If I had learned it in school… I probably would not have carried all of those emotions I had today. I felt everything going through this memorial and museum."
We walked toward the east where our horses were at, and we both smiled when we saw visitors feeding our horses some apples and carrots they had carried with them.
"Thank you so much," Daddy said with a smile, tipping his hat.
"This is your horse?" a woman asked. "She is beautiful."
"Her name is Genevieve. And this is my daughter's horse, Bullseye."
"Are you from Arcadia?" a man, I'm guessing the woman's husband, asked.
"No, we're from a small town called Elkhorn. I'm the sheriff."
"Thank you for your service, Sheriff," the woman replied, shaking my daddy's hand.
I watched my daddy shake the husband's hand before we both hopped on our horses, and we rode back home, but not before I turned around to see the Oklahoma City skyline one more time.
"Alright Justine, I need to relieve Slink of his duties," Daddy said when we got back home. "I'll give you a ride to town."
"Daddy, go on without me," I told him. "I want to do something first."
"Alright, but please, don't be late. I promised Dolly for you to be back in school by the afternoon."
"I'll take Bullseye with me," I replied.
I watched Daddy take off on Genevieve while I walked toward the porch. There was not a lot of shade in the front of our house, so I walked to a spot between the house and the orchard my mother had planted. I said a prayer, praying for the families of the 168 victims of the bombing, then I planted the Survivor Tree seedling and watered it. I said one more prayer, thanking the Lord for giving me and my family life, and I rode Bullseye to school.
I was in my room writing in my diary when I heard one of my parents knocking on my door.
"Come in!" I yelled, and in walked my mother.
"Hi dear, dinner's just about ready."
"Hey Mother, I have to ask: did Daddy ever take you to the memorial in Oklahoma City?"
"No, he didn't. I have gone there myself while I was transforming into a human from being a lost toy."
I watched my mother taking a seat on my bed.
"The memorial in Oklahoma City was a one-of-a-kind place to be," Mother explained. "But I didn't go during the daytime. I went late at night so that I wouldn't be seen."
"Wouldn't it be hard to see everything at night?" I asked.
"On the contrary, the entire memorial was lit up," Mother answered with a smile. "It was all so beautiful. The gates of time were lit up to look like shooting stars going to heaven. The Survivor Tree looked like the perfect place to go on a late night picnic. All 168 chairs were lit like the souls of those victims were still alive and with us. And the reflecting pool captured it all. But nothing was blinding, which made the scene so serene and peaceful. While you could still easily see the damage from the bombing behind those chairs, all the lights filled the memorial with hope and endurance."
"Speaking of endurance, I bought a seedling from the Survivor Tree and planted it on the front yard," I told her.
"Really?"
"I was touched at everything, but one of the things that touched me the most was that children were involved, and they shouldn't have been."
"Justine, no child deserves to die. No parent deserves to bury their own child. And no child deserves the life of an orphan. I remember going to the memorial and feeling so saddened at seeing the smaller chairs that represented the children. I had taken some sticky notes that Billy, Goat, and Gruff found in the garbage, and I wrote notes of remembrance for each of the 19 children that were killed. As a former toy, learning that children died in the bombing just broke my heart. I never signed my name, but I wanted the families to feel loved, even after 20 years."
"That was an amazing thing you did, Mother."
"You did an amazing thing yourself, Justine: planting the seed of hope, and even more so, making any visitor feel welcome. I think that tree will grow to be just as big as the Survivor Tree."
We paused, smiling at each other.
"Did Daddy tell you that the Survivor Tree is the symbol of resilience in all of Oklahoma?"
"I learned that myself," I answered. "The people of Oklahoma truly are one of a kind, dropping everything to help another. It makes me think of Daddy."
"Oh, yes. When Wheezy was put on the shelf to dust, guess who was there? Your daddy. When Wheezy was selected to be sold in a yard sale, who got him out? Your daddy. When a toy was lost, Daddy dropped everything to retrieve that toy. He even dropped everything to try to bring me back when I was given away."
"I dropped my concern of Andy to help my friends survive the daycare center and the landfill," I heard Daddy say, walking in the room and sitting on the bed with Mother. "Lastly, I sacrificed the comforts of being with an owner to help a new toy find his way."
"Forky is not the only toy you helped, you know," Mother replied sweetly, giving Daddy a kiss on the cheek.
"Well, let's see, there was Jessie, who had taken over leadership duties of our group before growing up. There was-"
"I was talking about you, Sheriff," Mother interrupted. "You helped yourself see a different perspective."
I watched as my mother pulled my daddy in for a kiss. When they didn't stop, I started to blush.
"Umm, guys?"
Mother and Daddy stopped in their tracks and turned toward me, and they blushed.
"Sorry," they said at the same time.
"Well, the food's getting cold," Daddy proposed. "Let's eat."
"Agreed," Mother replied.
We walked down the stairs, and I suddenly felt a new sense of hope among my family and the town.
If you ever take a trip to Oklahoma City, please give the Oklahoma City National Memorial & Museum a visit and make a donation (you can also donate online). The people there did an amazing job telling the story of the events of April 19, 1995 and they have always honored those who were killed, those who survived, and those changed forever.