Above, Aleya Daigle of West Springfield wears a shirt with a picture of Kimberly Morris, one of the 49 people killed in the Orlando shooting, at a vigil in downtown Northampton Wednesday. At left, Frankie Yara Colon speaks during the vigil.
Above, Aleya Daigle of West Springfield wears a shirt with a picture of Kimberly Morris, one of the 49 people killed in the Orlando shooting, at a vigil in downtown Northampton Wednesday. At left, Frankie Yara Colon speaks during the vigil. Credit: Carol Lollis photos

NORTHAMPTON — At dusk, downtown seemed to stand still as an estimated 1,000 people converged in front of City Hall to pay respects to those killed in the Orlando, Florida, massacre. 

Days before, in the early morning hours of Sunday, a gunman shot his way through Pulse nightclub, leaving 49 people dead and even more injured — the deadliest mass shooting in modern U.S. history.

Wednesday night’s community-organized vigil effectively shut down Main Street. The crowd spilled out from the front of City Hall, packed a portion of Main Street and nearby sidewalks. Onlookers peered out and watched from windows of nearby apartments. 

Attendees held homemade posters and sang and listened and cried.

“This has been and will remain an impossible thing to do,” said Lena Wilson, 21, of Easthampton, who helped organize the event. “And yet, here we are.”

Looking out at the crowd, Wilson said “just made me feel very connected with the people and the community of Northampton in a way that I hadn’t before.”

After the sun had set and candles were lit, a woman walked up the steps of City Hall and looked across the sea of strangers’ faces, their tear streaks visible only by the soft glow of the candlelight around them.

“My name is Aimee Fife,” the 34-year-old woman said, her composure breaking, “and KJ Morris is my best friend.”

Kimberly “KJ” Morris, 37, who spent more than a decade living in western Massachusetts, worked as a bouncer at Pulse and was among those who were killed in the carnage.

“It has not been easy, as I’m sure you can imagine, to see my best friend’s name and picture all over any channel that I see on TV,” said Fife, of Palmer.

Then, she forced a smirk.

“But knowing KJ, she would want to make light of it,” she continued. “So when I saw that Lady Gaga said her name, I know that girl screamed somewhere in excitement.”

Fife told the crowd about their 15-year friendship — “That’s a lot of years in the gay world,” she quipped — that revolved around dancing, laughing and Wednesday nights spent watching reality TV, eating pizza and drinking Twisted Tea cocktails.

Fife told the crowd about KJ’s favorite movies, “Lilo and Stitch” and “The Color Purple,” and how supportive KJ was as a bridesmaid in her wedding — then about how comforting she was during the divorce.

Near the end of her remarks, Fife told of the last text message she received from KJ. It was a photo of the two of them.

“We’re so cute,” KJ wrote. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Fife said she replied.

Fife looked out at the crowd again.

“My name is Aimee Fife,” she repeated, “and KJ Morris is my best friend.”

“This world will never be the same for me,” she wept.

Fife walked to her right across the steps, away from the lectern. She stood and cried, dabbing her eyes with tissue.

In a few hours, she had told the crowd, she would be on a plane to Orlando to say goodbye one last time.

Michael Majchrowicz can be reached at mmajchrowicz@gazettenet.com or at 413-585-5234.