Casper, Wyoming

Autumn Marie Cazier

Fishtown Writing Submission 

Casper College was, at the time, the only two-year accredited program in the country offering an Associates in Dance Performance. It was 2018- my senior year. As my peers selected majors and Universities, I chose to follow my passion in performing arts. After receiving a scholarship to Casper College, a school that I had never heard of in the tiny town of Casper, Wyoming- I decided to take a tour. The school, for me, was love at first sight. Several options for on-campus housing for a junior college, one of the most rigorous dance programs in the nation, and great student to teacher ratio. It was just a bonus that each dorm came with its own private bathroom- which, for many students, was enough to say yes. 

At 18, I packed my bags to the windiest city in the west as my parents made the six hour drive on move-in day. My first years of adulthood in Wyoming were anything but typical for the average college experience. Livestock judging, rodeos, mountains, and hiking trails where wild horses would roam, and the deer were unbothered by traffic. It was quiet- at times even serene- though the winters were treacherous. Casper, hometown of Dick Cheney and Matthew Shepard, is one of the most populated towns in Wyoming, with a population of just over 50,000. As college kids we frequented the 24 hour Walmarts, Dennys, the dying mall, and driving to abandoned towns. It was the most fun we could find.

2020 came and and everyone was either graduating or switching majors. I decided it was time for something different, as I wanted to explore more of college life and the social experience. In a drastic shift, I decided to pursue Criminal Justice. I felt refreshed with the newfound sense of motivation and confidence. But as March loomed, and a two week spring break turned into a global pandemic, life quickly changed. The- already tiny town became much smaller in quarantine, and I lived alone in a private dorm. My formative college years became swallowed in solitude, classes turned virtual, and in-person contact became scarce. During the height of the pandemic, tragedy struck. A call from my mother came the day before the election results in November. As we were all glued to our TVs, and holding out hope for a better future. My mother informed me that two of our friends were tragically murdered in a shooting in Las Vegas, Nevada. A dispute gone wrong with their unstable neighbor had taken the lives of, 39- year old Diana Hawatmeh and her 12- year old Joseph ‘Jojo’ Hawatmeh. 

We were at a loss, it felt as though my whole world had shut down as I grieved alone. My soul companion was a hamster I had snuck into the dorms. I reflected on my many years with Diana, her gorgeous house and equally beautiful spirit- Jojo’s giggles and his radiant childlike innocence. I wallowed in my depression, I flunked my classes, and felt paralyzed in my bed. As the pandemic came and went, life continued around me, but, I didn’t follow it. I felt trapped, immobile, and yearned for something more. A change, a sense of community, something greater. I began prioritizing my dreams and aspirations of pursuing the arts, finding ways to merge my new major with a creative outlet. I spent most of my free time listening to the stories of other survivors and those who had lost loved ones to gun violence, hoping to gain a sense of closure and validation. 

It was then that I formed a plan. I would move to New York City- the theater capital of the world- to debut a full length play production centered on gun violence awareness. I had lived there for two years as a teenager and considered those the most formative years of my life. With a new year on the horizon, it was time to start planning. Another tragedy struck in the spring-our friend Elizabeth lost her life, this time from a fatal infection. My grades and mental health continued to decline. I had to face everything at once, and the plans that I had stowed away at a future date, came forward at a throttling rate. I had to leave within the next few months. 

With short planning comes a lack of finances, and though New York City was a faraway dream, the timing just couldn’t have been worse. I had a long conversation with my best friend, who planned to move across the country with me and start a new life. We had to choose somewhere else-somewhere more affordable, at least for now. We began looking at the outskirts: how close could we get to New York without actually living in it? It came down to two choices- New Jersey or Philadelphia. If we went with New Jersey, we would already have a support system there through my friends who had come from New York. If we went with Philadelphia, we’d still get the big-city experience at a much more affordable rate. With only one of us having a driver's license, and the other eager to find more opportunities, the choice became clear. We joined housing groups on Facebook for both regions, spoke with numerous people and viewed several virtual tours. That is, until we found a perfect little spot in the heart of Fishtown. 

In the last week of May 2021, my best friend and her parents loaded up a U-Haul truck with her two cats and all of our belongings making the several-day drive from Wyoming to Pennsylvania. I flew, and met them there on June 1st, right at the front door to our new house. In the first few days of arriving in Philly, it became apparent that we were completely unprepared. Without either of us securing jobs ahead of time, and with her living in Wyoming her entire life, it was a major adjustment. Facing the entity that is SEPTA, navigating a walkable city, and meeting the most loyal sports fans in the world (Go Birds!) -Philly was truly a breed of its own. That was four years ago. Through numerous relationships, new roommates, endless jobs, hardships, and even more tragedies, we’ve persevered. The show I wrote on gun violence is now a six time award nominee. All in that very same Fishtown home. Moving to a big city is hard enough, let alone when you’ve barely been on your own. There were many times where I didn’t think we’d make it, or that we were too broke to stay. People came and went, opportunities arose, and then faded. But all in all, I wouldn’t want to witness an Eagles win anywhere else in the world.