The day of love

It was the day of love. Everyone was rushing into Walgreens to get chocolate for their girlfriends the morning of because they forgot. There was massive traffic on the way to school. All of the street signs had hearts on them and were covered in red and pink roses.

We finally got to school. “I’ll be late today so go to the library and wait for me there”

My mom shouted out of her car window as my brother and I as we walked our separate ways so we wouldn’t be seen together.

First class, I was a teacher assistant. I hated that class because it was a class full of seniors and I was only a freshman. As usual, I put my headphones in and worked on homework that was due the next class; Chinese. I liked this class, but only because I loved the teacher. She and I were friends. We talked and laughed about the absurd holiday and how heavily it was celebrated in America compared to most countries. History was next. We, again, talked about this holy love day, and, celebrated by giving compliments to each other. The teacher was a bit childish. In English, we talked about romance in novels and about what the teacher is planning on doing later that day. During biology, the teacher did a mini-lesson about how love controls the body. Everyone giggled. During lunch in the cafeteria, kids were singing love songs. The student government was handing out cute little messages that we would send only to our friends with a piece of candy. “U r ugly”

I wrote to my friend. We laughed and shared the candy. It was a love-filled school day. The classes were easy with fun activities commemorating love, friendship, and kindness.

The school bell rang at 3:15. My mom texted that she was here at 3:40. During those 35 minutes, the love was gone. Completely shattered. As if someone vacuumed all the love out of the air. I got a snapchat from my best friend. It was a picture of her face with red, watery eyes.

“My sister has a lockdown at her school, and it’s not a drill”

I started to worry. Her sister was at the school everyone knew in South Florida. It was a big school with 3,000 kids.

“There are so many lockdowns all the time,” I said to myself. Everything is fine. Everything has to be fine. Things like this don’t happen. I got into my mom's car and told her and my brother what happened. They were shocked. I immediately checked if my friends at the school were fine. But they didn’t open their snaps.

As soon as we got home I turned on the news. It was true. There was a shooting. There was no information yet. So many helicopters and news channels were at the school. Then we saw 2,983 kids run in a straight line with their hands above their heads, they were running to see their parents. To escape. To the park. Anywhere but there. In those 2,983 were my friends, my brother's friends, my best friends sister, and the shooter. The death toll kept rising. The Marriott nearby helped and offered kids to go there and try to find their parents. So many were missing. I was scrolling through Instagram and every post had

“Pray for Douglas”

Or

“Please help they are missing”

After a while it became

“Rest in peace…”

The next day was horrible. I walked into school scared, nervous and shaking. As I walked I saw kids crying and hugging. People who I don’t talk to hugged me and were being nice. It was a mourning morning with no hate just kindness. From everyone. The jock, the nerd, the diva, the cheerleader, the nobody, everyone became one. Nothing else mattered. First period arrived and the teacher tried to talk about it but he had no words. It was his first year here and didn't know how to console everyone. Second period came, and the Chinese teacher also had nothing to say. No one did. She said she was here for everyone. I broke down crying. I was mad at myself. Why am I crying? It wasn't at my school. My friends are safe. No one I knew was killed. I was furious I thought I was a fake. How dare I cry when nothing happened to me? As tears rolled down my cheek and the teacher hugging me, the speakers yelled

“this is code gold I repeat code gold.”

“teachers please check your emails.”

What? What was happening? Another shooting ten minutes away from yesterday? How is this happening?

For the next hour, we sat huddled in the corner crying and panicking. Everyone was texting. My group of friends and I were spread out throughout campus so each of us was able to inform each other on what was happening

“I see police cars.”

“My mom said we are on the news.”

“I'm shaking.”

“The teacher is holding a bat she thinks she will protect us.”

“Did anyone else hear that?”

“Omg, I heard that, what was that?”

It was safe. A teacher thought she heard something.

The police were storming the school, classroom by classroom.

Yelling.

“Who’s the teacher?”

One police officer accidentally shot two bullets. Luckily they hit the ground.

School was dismissed for the rest of the day. I was crying trying to explain what had happened to my mom.

Over the weekend, my brother and I ignored the subject completely. There were funerals, but we didn't go. We just watched Phineas and Ferb. Every month after, on the 14th my feed would be filled;

“17 angels”

And videos of the shooting.

And red blood on the floor.

Red. The color of Love.

It became easier to talk about it throughout the year. We moved over the summer. The new school was easy. Not very serious. One day, during assembly, we stood in solidarity to remember the victims of a shooting in a synagogue in Pittsburgh. A kid was calling out the names of the people who died. Somehow, I heard the victims of the school shooting. February 15th came back to me. Every emotion. Every thought. I was sobbing uncontrollably and my friend took me to the guidance counselor. How was I supposed to explain what was happening? While I was at her office the speakers yelled once again

“Come Join Us for Valentine's Day.” Millstone Public House, 30 Jan. 2018, millstonepublichouse.com/come-join-us-for-valentines-day/.

“Code red. I repeat code red.”