So often I’ll see an awful thing on TV, and will feel so badly for whoever it is involved in that tragedy. With certain tragedies, I can relate, and my emotions are amplified. When I hear stories about cancer patients (like the make a wish on 20/20), I feel the pain more acutely because though ten years have passed, I can remember my grandmother’s lost battle against cancer, as if it were only yesterday.
In the past few years, the news has been dominated by mass shootings at schools. I distinctly remember feeling devastation and disgust and sorrow. But I don’t know that I ever comprehended the horror, or how harrowing and traumatizing that experience was for all involved.
On March 14, 2018, the week following my bio midterm, and a week before my final exams, I had an organic chemistry synthesis quiz (they’re tough). I was harried and stressed and afraid that I’d forget one little thing and mess my grade up. I left early for school, thinking I would be taking the exam early in the afternoon, but at the last minute, my professor changed the schedule, and I had to take it at 6 PM. I bought lunch, hated it, but forced myself to eat it, because one of my biggest pet peeves is throwing away food. Many people in this world would beg me for that awful food, and it hurts me to think that I would be wasting something that would nourish them. I finished, then went to the library. No surprise, it was packed. So, I sat at the one table no one would take, a makeshift card table at the front of the library.
My phone never rings. Frequently studying, I leave my phone in DND (do not disturb) mode for the entire day, only allowing my parent’s and sister’s calls to ring through. When I am at the school or the library, they know it, and they don’t bother me. But my mom was calling.
Crying, her first words were “you need to find a place to hide, there’s a shooter.” I remember that moment. Being terrified. Trembling and barely able to hold the phone. I hurriedly collected my stuff. I spoke to the classmate I was with. Barely able to talk or get my voice above a whisper, I said, “we need to go.” He couldn’t understand what I said, but he sensed my fear. “I said, there’s a shooter, we have to hide.” In those few moments, because this exchange and bag-packing took only 20 seconds, if that, I was torn. The university only notified my mom that there was an active shooter, they didn’t say where. Do I desperately run through another building and try to reach the outside parking lot where my car is? Do I hide under a table where I am undoubtedly exposed? Do we stay together, or split and go our separate ways? So many questions. I thank God that my friend was with me. He ran towards the gym, thinking we could attempt to get to his car parked in the lot adjoining the gym. Not more than 30 seconds after we ran, everyone else must have gotten a university notice, because they started freaking out and running too. When we made it to the gym, we were barricaded in. We hid in one of the upper floors, hoping the shooter neither cared nor knew how to access the top stories of the building.
For the first half hour, every sound made me turn wild-eyed, unarmed, vulnerable, expecting to meet the rumored AK-15. When three guys came around the corner, I jumped so violently that all 4 of us stood in shock. I’m so embarrassed by this, but I cried, wept to my friend that I just wanted to go home. I just wanted to see my family again. Through it all, he remained calm, but in a resigned to his fate sort of way; a reaction that I wasn’t in a position to understand. The way I saw it, there had to be something we could do.
After an hour, tensions were settling, but in an eerie way. The university continued to send ambiguous at best updates, so I was still anxiously checking my texts and Safari for any updates. In retrospect, it’s interesting analyzing the things that went through my head in those “calmer” moments. I couldn’t help but think, so my last meal was so awful that I practically had to choke it down? I couldn’t remember if I said goodbye to my mom, or if I just rushed out the door, ready to end the quiz. I was so lost in school work and studying that I had not picked out a cute outfit or done my hair for a long stretch. In fact, I’d worn the same ball cap for 2 weeks straight. I hadn’t exercised, hadn’t read, practically hadn’t listened to any music for the past month, and hadn’t cooked or baked for nearly 2 months. I certainly hadn’t blogged or learned to meditate, or learned Italian or guitar. All the things that I love doing or aspired, and dreamed of doing, had fallen by the wayside. All I could think about were the ways I chose not to relax, or decompress, or appreciate life. I hadn’t done any of that, and there I was, crouched in a corner. I’ll tell you what I couldn’t think about though, I tried for 20 minutes to study organic chemistry, and couldn’t recall a thing, even the simplest of concepts.
A month past the incident, those tense moments made me reconsider how I studied. I make more time for the things that matter, like learning Italian, and which countries make up Europe. I spend more time appreciating what I almost no longer had, like taking the time to tell my mom I love her as I walk out the door. I’ll remember the people crouching, the students packing the stairwell, huddled together for support. I won’t forget looking at those students and thinking, “What does the shooter see?”, only to have a sinking feeling in my stomach as I realized that 30 students were just sitting there in the open. I will remember looking at every other crevice saying, “Would he look here? Would he see me? Where should I hide and how?”. Most of all, I’ll remember not loving enough, not living enough.
How did the incident end? It was a hoax. Some sicko thought it was a great prank to play. It wasn’t a school shooting, but it seemed like one. I won’t forget how it made me feel. How it taught me to take more time for myself and my personal health. I won’t forget that as my mind calmed down, and as I stopped crying, my first thought, was now I get it. A month later, I’m a little closer to understanding that horror and my heart breaks so much more. It breaks for all the people who don’t get to hear, “It’s just a hoax.”