“Let’s go to Gino’s tonight to celebrate,” I suggested. Gino’s was his favorite, and it was how we usually celebrated things if it would be just the two of us. This year, Charlie had insisted he didn’t want a real party. Instead, he wanted to go to Washington DC with me for a weekend when school let out for the summer. I was totally on board for that experience, but we needed to celebrate today nonetheless.
I dropped him off at the middle school, only two blocks from the elementary school I still taught at. He jumped out of the car and then turned around to me and waved. Thirteen years old, he was a teenager now. He’d started to sprout up, and as his friends approached him, I noticed he was one of the tallest in the group. He walked away with them, backpack slung over one shoulder, with a hint of a swagger. Manhood was lurking somewhere in that lithe body, threatening to emerge at any moment. Shaking my head to chase the thought away, I headed to my own school.
I’d only just parked when I heard my message alert ding.
Mom can I stay late with Bryce, we’re gonna work on his robotics project…
I guess, what time should I pick you up?
He invited me to his house afterward, his mom’s making tacos.
My throat tightened a little at this. I felt unreasonably disappointed. Of course, he wanted to spend his birthday with a friend, but I felt a little left behind. Was it happening? Was Charlie hitting that age where I’d no longer be the most important person in his life? I knew this was the natural progression of things, I couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it’d happened in my own childhood, but I could distinctly recall at some point my friends became more important than my own family. Still, it was just dinner, I reasoned, we could do cake and ice cream tonight at home. I’d find some new movie on Amazon he’d been wanting to see and we’d make the evening special with that. I bit back the disappointment and replied.
Sure, just be home by 7! School night!
K…
Love you…
You too…
My second graders didn’t allow me to think about the cancelled plans for long. The unseasonably warm weather had them in rare form. I spent the first hour of the class day trying to harness and corral way too much sun-fed seven-year-old energy. If we were having a battle of the wills, I had to admit they were winning. I decided this was drastic enough behavior; we needed drastic action, and I turned the classroom light off. Silence temporarily descended as I spoke as quietly as possible without going into a full whisper.
Everything isn’t just a hazy memory. It’s like any other day in my life; I can recall bits, pieces, but not everything. I remember one child interrupted me and earned my sternest yes-ma’am face, and I remember when the alarm sounded. I don’t remember just what bit of wisdom I’d been about to impart on them, though. That wisdom has been lost forever.
When the alarm first sounded, I had been confused. I assumed I must have missed an updated drill date. This was rote by now, we’d practiced it so many times. I held up a hand to quiet the already stimulated kids who seemed far more excited about having their lesson time interrupted, than worried about what the alarm might actually mean. I called out, “Go to the back of the room,” as I marched up the door to lock it. Then the vice principal’s voice came over the intercom, and everything changed.
“Lock down! Lock down! This is NOT a drill, teachers ensure you are following full lockdown procedures, repeat LOCK DOWN this is NOT a drill.”
I glanced back at my students. They were quieter and I saw a few decidedly worried-looking faces. Summoning my inner mom, I smiled and said cheerfully in my quiet voice, “All right, you guys know how this drill goes. We’re going to sit very quietly in the back of the room and wait. This is probably just like last time,” I promised.
Last time had been the day First Union was robbed just three blocks away. They’d put us in a precautionary lockdown as police chased down suspects who were never actually anywhere near the school. Better safe than sorry, our school superintendent would say.
I did a quick headcount to confirm what I had already known; everyone was here. Thankfully, it was so early in the day no one had pressed for a restroom pass yet. The whole time I was listening intently, and I heard nothing concerning. Certainly, no gunshots, but also no yelling or heavy footsteps or any other sign I imagined that might indicate this was a serious situation. The last announcement had momentarily quieted my students, but they were beginning to whisper and even giggle again. It was a fine line to straddle; I was supposed to keep them quiet, but I also didn’t want to terrify 16 seven-year-olds when it wasn’t necessary. I settled for periodic “Shhh, voices down” reminders, as I listened intently for an announcement that would tell us this had all been a drill, or some silly mistake.
One of my students, a very serious little girl named Becca, crawled across the floor and whispered nervously, “I think I have to go to the bathroom.”
She was a shy girl, the type who blended into the background and worked so hard to escape attention and notice. Her mother had confided at our last parent-teacher conference she suffered from social anxiety night terrors. Of all my students, the look on her face made it clear she was having the hardest time with this lockdown. I groaned inwardly but keeping my voice calm explained, “Not now, sweetie, you have to hold it in for a little while. I’m sure they’ll open the doors soon.”
Her chin quivered a little, but she nodded and sat back next to me silently. I had just relaxed again when the phones started their show. My students knew they couldn’t have a phone on their person during class, but most had one stuffed away in their book bag or jacket. A lone vibrating sound was quickly joined by a chorus of various alert sounds. From somewhere in the cacophony, I heard one that sounded distinctly like my own.
The last time we went on lockdown, phones had sounded off, but it hadn’t been with this same sense of urgency. What the hell was going on? I looked at my students, who were now decidedly quieter, and could see the dawning realization on their faces this was something different. Becca grabbed my arm, and then as tears fell down her face, pointed at her lap. I could see the darkening fabric of her crotch as her bladder let loose. I grabbed her hand and squeezed and whispered, “It’s okay, we’ll get you cleaned up soon, no one will know.”
Summoning every bit of reserves I had, I faked a big smile and said in a low but cheerful voice, “Well, I guess our phones are all working! I’m going to go get mine and see if maybe there’s a phone company test sending messages. Everyone stay here, and I have a funny game we’re going to play while we wait. Before I go to my desk, I’m going to whisper something into Becca’s ear and then she’s going to whisper it into Thomas’s ear, and so on. By the time we get to Jamal, I’m betting he’s going to report back to me with something quite different. Let’s give it a try!”
Their faces looked relieved, eager for a distraction. I leaned toward Becca and whispered, “The white cat jumped a fence, and went for a swim,” then got up to creep my way toward the front of the classroom.
Halfway to my desk, I paused. I was about to pass the door and there was a window in it. I was torn between wanting to duck past it and wanting to peek out to see what might be happening. My phone alert sounded again, and I glanced back at the kids who were now fully enthralled in their whisper game. I was already taking a chance; I couldn’t take a bigger one. I concentrated on my breathing, remembering the technique I’d learned when I’d trained for a 10K, eerily similar to what they taught us in Lamaze classes. In through the nose and out through the mouth. Repeat. Ducking low enough I thought I wouldn’t be visible from the hallway, I swept past the door and ran to my desk. The phone was in the top drawer where I’d left it, and I grabbed it desperately. I hadn’t really believed I was in harm's way before the journey across the classroom, but the sprint past the door left me feeling vulnerable.
I looked toward the back of the dimly lit room at the hunched figures of my students and gingerly repeated the trip in reverse. I reached the children
just as they completed their whisper game. Trying not to sound out of breath, I asked, “Well, Jamal, what did you hear?”
“Dwight’s cat shuts the fence and winter storm,” he replied proudly to the giggles of his classmates. Feigning enjoyment, I didn’t actually feel, I started a second round and then finally turned my attention to the phone. Multiple messages were waiting to be read. I started at the top, the first was from my mother.
We just saw the news! Call us as soon as you can.
My sister had sent multiple messages.
Are you guys okay?
OMG call me!!
Goosebumps erupted on my arms. That my family, all the way in Michigan, knew something was happening terrified me. But if I’d felt chilled at that moment, the next message left me frozen. It was from a friend who taught kindergarten down the hall.
What’s going on? Any idea?
OMG Nancy just texted she heard it’s actually at Cooper.
This is crazy, look at the CNN page!
Cooper? That was the name of Charlie’s middle school. For a moment, I was confused. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t happening at Cooper; we were the ones on lockdown. Then in a rush, it hit me. Cooper was only two blocks away; if something happened there we would go on a precautionary lockdown. In the background, the rings and alert sounds continued, and I glanced at my students. Then I looked back at my phone and with a trembling finger opened the internet browser and typed in CNN.
ACTIVE SHOOTER AT COOPER MIDDLE SCHOOL IN RICHMOND, VA. Police confirm there is an active shooter situation in progress. They report there are victims, but are not releasing further details at the time. Parents and media are being asked to stay away from the school; students are still locked down. Nearby Groves Elementary School was also placed on a precautionary lockdown. School officials say once the situation is resolved, they will coordinate a student release.
When people say, “my heart stopped,” you understand unless they literally had a heart attack, it’s empty hyperbole. Usually, when someone uses that phrase, it feels dramatic and empty. Except my heart stopped. I frantically opened my messenger and clicked Charlie’s name.
Hey, are you okay?
Charlie if you can, pls answer me…
I love you.
I watched desperately for the tell-tale ellipsis that would indicate he was typing a response. With each passing second, I felt my panic grow. I looked blankly at my students as if they might somehow have a solution. One of the little boys closest asked, “What’s wrong, Miss Sanger?”
It snapped me out of my paralysis, and I took a deep breath. “Nothing Christian, I’m just letting people know we are okay and it seems this is all just a drill after all.”
The alerts from the coat hook wall kept coming, and I realized the parents of my students were as frantic about their children as I was about Charlie. If I gave them their phones, it was possible they’d see the news and feel more scared than they were already, but the truth was the constant ringtones and message alert sounds had us all on edge already. If their parents knew they were okay, the assault of sound might slow down. I glanced at my phone again, still nothing from Charlie. Maybe his phone was also in his backpack, stuffed in a locker or under a desk and he just couldn’t reach it. When this was all over, he’d complain about how stupid and boring it was, how someone had played a prank and dropped some firecrackers in the boys' room or something, and all the adults had overreacted.
I looked at the coat wall and told the students to remain where they were, then made my way to it. I grabbed every jacket and backpack that hung along its length, and feeling like a Sherpa leading a group onto Everest, and walked back to the kids with it all.
“Okay, if you have a phone, you may use text only on it. You may contact your parents. We’re not going to make phone calls, only text. We’re not going to play on the internet. Only text. You can share your phone with a classmate who doesn’t have one if they know a phone number to send a text to. Only text. Do you understand?”
They all nodded and eagerly held out their hands for their items. Soon the dimly lit classroom was filled with bright screens. I could see their little faces relax as they received comforting words from home, and I felt a stab of envy. Come on, Charlie, talk to me.
Hello???
I hit refresh on the CNN page and found there hadn’t been many more details released. There was a photo now, though, of the front of the school. There were several dozen police vehicles, ambulances, and a few media trucks with big satellite dishes extended on the roof. I couldn’t see any students or teachers, the few people in the shot were obviously law enforcement or media. Then, as I studied the photo closely, the page refreshed with a new headline.
AT LEAST SIX STUDENTS INJURED AT COOPER MIDDLE SCHOOL SHOOTING (updated, 10:29 am) At least six students have been shot at Cooper Middle School, in Richmond, VA. Their condition is unknown at this time. An anonymous source reports the alleged shooter is no longer considered a threat. It is unknown at this time if they are among the casualties or if they are in police custody. Students are now being evacuated from the school and will be reunited with their parents at a soon to be disclosed location. Nearby Groves elementary school remains on lockdown, that condition is expected to be lifted shortly.
I sat back against the cold, plaster wall and closed my eyes. I couldn’t hold it together any longer. I feared I wouldn’t be able to stop the scream of terror that was welled up in my throat. I pictured Charlie as he had been that morning, faded Levi’s, red and black checkered shirt unbuttoned, over a Gryffindor t-shirt, blue LL Bean backpack slung cooly over one shoulder. Charlie, smiling at me as he waved, looking at me with Narek’s brown eyes. There were so many students at Cooper, six wasn’t such a big number. Six was still reason to believe he was okay. I felt a tug at my sleeve and looked down to see Becca staring up at me.
I forced a pained smile and felt my lip shaking. “It’s okay, Becca. Soon, I promise.” A second after my reassurance, the vice principal’s clearly shaken voice came over the intercom. “Lockdown is lifted, at this time classes will resume, teachers we anticipate an early release to some parents. Please check your faculty email for more details.”
I jumped up and ran for the light switch. “Okay, everyone, head to your desks. I’m going to speak to Miss Giesinger for a moment, indoor voices, please.” and ran from the room before they had a chance to comply.
I pounded on the door of the room across the hall and when a very frazzled-looking coworker opened it, she mouthed the words “holy shit!” to me. I grabbed her arm and said, “I need to speak to you now,” as I pulled her to the hallway.
As soon as we were out of earshot of the students, she explained, “This is absolutely insane. I can’t believe the headlines.”
I cut her off. “My son goes to Cooper.”
She put her hand up to her mouth and asked if I’d heard from him. I hadn’t. He wasn’t answering his texts. I had to go. She nodded and said, “Go! I’ll take care of your kids until we can get a sub in.”
I ran back into my classroom and told the children they’d be looked in on soon, and someone would take my place. I was proud of how well they behaved during the lockdown, but I had to go help someone, and then grabbing my purse, I ran back into the hallway. Up ahead, I saw someone else running. I realized as he opened the main doors it was Robert Edwards, one of the sixth-grade teachers, and I remembered he had a wife who taught at Cooper. I yelled, “Robert!”
He turned and the look on his face mirrored everything I felt, a veritable stew of emotions that in the end boiled down to one thing, terror. He nodded and said, “Let’s go.”
We knew cars wouldn’t be able to get anywhere near the school, so we ran the two blocks. We ran past the gawkers who stood with cell phones recording the scene, past the reporters who milled about the pavement speaking solemnly into microphones, past the first layer of first responders who seemed to be packing up, and straight into the inner circle of authorities who form
ed an iron wall against any further forward movement. “My son.” I tried to explain to the officer who had blocked me.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but the building is off-limits right now, students are going to be bussed and released at the high school stadium.”
“No, you don’t understand. I’m a teacher. My son, he’s here. He isn’t answering his texts.”
His face wasn’t unsympathetic, but it showed no hint of acquiescence. “This is a crime scene. We can’t allow anyone in.”
I was about to argue further when I heard a piercing sound from somewhere to my left. I turned to see two ambulances pulling out as authorities shouted at the media to get out of the way. I glanced at Robert and saw he wasn’t having any more luck than me at crossing this line. He shook his head in frustration and walked over to me. “They won’t budge. I understand why, but this is chaos. Do you want to head to the high school?”
I nodded. The adrenaline from my run and encounter with police was wearing off and a wave of exhaustion washed over me. We walked back to our school and got into his car. The high school was only 3 miles away, but it felt like an eternity to get there.
“Your wife… you haven’t heard anything from her?” I asked.
His jaw clenched and then he replied, “No. She teaches science, and I know she had a first-period class today, but she hasn’t answered any calls or texts. I’m hoping maybe she just forgot to charge it or something. And your son?”
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