I shuffle up the ramp into my chemistry classroom. That Monday morning’s chilly.
I take my seat— where I always do.
I take out my homework— like I always do.
I start talking to Aly— like I always do.
We laugh— like we always do.
Then he asks if I want to see something.
“Of course!” I naively reply.
Of course, I say yes. Of course, I do. We’ve been friends forever. He is a smart, kind kid with a bright future ahead of him. He has dreams, goals, aspirations. He’s just a kid who enjoys programming computers, programming robotics software and helping me with homework.
He reaches into his backpack to pull something out.
My body knows something is wrong before my mind does. My heart is trying to rip out of my chest, and my eyes widen as I look down to see what’s in his hands. Only to realize he’s trying to place a gun in mine.
Aly peeks over my shoulder.
“If you tell ANYONE — I’ll shoot you in the face.” This threat echoes in my mind for hours.
God how I wish it was a joke.
What do I do?
Do I tell someone?
Then what I must do dawns on me. I slowly pull out my Chromebook, and start typing.
Report him.
All you have to do is get your Chromebook out and report him.
OK It’s done. You can stop shaking.
STOP SHAKING. HE’S GONNA KNOW. They’re gonna know. lol
The longest six minutes of my life pass by.
Finally… the door opens.
And our principal, Mr. W, walks in.
He meets my gaze.
Then I see it— see the panic in his face.
Pure panic.
Mr. W calmly picks up his backpack and tosses it behind himself.
Mr. W swiftly guides him out of the classroom.
And two minutes later … a large hulk of a police officer comes in and pulls me out of class.
He leads me into a cold conference room, asks, “Would you be willing to give a statement?”
God, how I wish it was a joke.
My ears ring.
My hands shake.
My thoughts run RAMPANT.
The silly picture frame with a cutout of Mr.Tong’s face slowly loses any resemblance to him. The text on the posters suddenly no longer has words. My tears warp the room as I sit there, my tears start to streak my cheeks.
A woman I don’t recognize walks in.
She pulls up a seat next to me
Then introduces herself.
The district PSYCHOLOGIST.
WHY would I need a psychologist?
She looks down at my shoes, the eyes of my beloved Lighting McQueen crocs staring back at her.
So she asks,“What’s your favorite Cars movie?”
I almost instantly stop crying.
At that very moment I launch into a spiral about why I love “Cars 2.”
As soon as I finish, I totally forget what I was even upset about.
Then I remember – remember a huge police officer is standing by us, waiting for me to give him a statement.
I look over at him.
And the officer looks at me with soft eyes… and asks again, “Would you be willing to give a statement?”
“Oh! Of course I have no problem giving a statement.”
Like magic, the officer spawns a notebook, asks me for a “what exactly happened” play-by-play.
So my statement tumbles out.
And when I’m finally done, I remember I should call my mom.
So I ask the psychologist, “Could I call my mommy and go home?”
And the kind lady says, “Of course, we’d just have to go into a different room. Is that okay?”
She leads me outside. The air seems colder than it was just an hour earlier.
We enter what appears to be another empty conference room.
She points to a small table in the corner with a phone sitting there, waiting for me.
I approach the phone and punch in my mom’s digits — 559-817-****.
What do I even say?
How will she react
What if she doesn’t answer?
Each ringgggg…ringggggg…ringgggggg…
Each sounding longer than the last. Finally on the fourth ringggggg —
“Hello?”
“Hey mom…” Silence. For a heartbeat.
“What?” In her voice I pick up that familiar annoyed tone. Then in real time I hear my words registering.
“Wait. What the f***? What did you just say?”
“A kid brought a gun to school, and said he was going to shoot me.”
“Oh my god, Aubrey. I’m on my way. RIGHT. NOW. Is there an actual adult I could speak to?”
The psychologist approaches me and asks for the phone. I hand it off as she goes on to explain the situation to my now very upset and anxiously speeding mother.
Who was now on her way to pick me and my sister up from school.
God how I wish it was a joke.
Shortly after getting the go-ahead I started speed-walking to grab my sister out of class.
What do I even tell her?
Do I even mention what happened?
What will she think?
I try to be as cool as possible, I open the door to her English classroom.
“Hey, me and Sadie are leaving early.”
Sadie packed up so fast, looking almost right through me.
We walked out to the parking lot— in sheer silence.
And wow! Mom is already there.
So we get into Mom’s car in sheer silence.
The car doors closed, and my mom pulled out of the parking lot.
Then the silence broke.
“Is this just a big ploy to get out of school?”
And I just can’t help but burst out laughing.
“What?”
“Are you trying to get out of school?”
“No, I am not.”
“Well what happened? No one has told me what exactly happened.”
So, under zero pressure I explain everything that happened in scrutinizing, painful detail.
God, how I wish it was a joke.
God, how I wish he didn’t throw away his future.
God, how I wish this wasn’t a reality.
God, how I wish I could time travel and tell him not to throw away his life.
God, how could this happen?
God, how I wish it was a joke.
Author’s note: This is real. It happened to me my sophomore year of high school. I was 15, meaning this incident happened almost a year ago today. Before I moved to Texas. A tragedy was avoided because I helped. And you could be the reason a tragedy is avoided too. If you see something, say something.
