by Eli Easton
Even at The Wall, I hadn’t been this overcome, this weak. It was like my system had immediately collapsed when that bullet went past my head.
I could be dead. I could have died right there.
“Is anyone hurt? Is anyone hurt?” James barked. He went from one of us to the other, looking us over and patting us down. “Everyone all right?”
“Who’s shooting? Who’s shooting?” Lauren, the girl from Santa Fe High School, kept asking, slightly hysterical.
“Everyone stay calm!” James said, sounding anything but calm himself. “There’s a hundred cops out there, and they’ll take care of it.”
Information began trickling in. A sniper warning had been phoned in to the police, and when they showed up, the sniper had started to shoot. None of us had been hit, but possibly someone in the crowd had been, because there had definitely been shots fired. Don and Amanda were nowhere to be seen, but James said they were safe.
He herded us into the green room, where the remains of our buffet still stood, as if no time at all had passed.
James listened to his headset. “You guys wait here. We may get you back on the air, but right now, we need to cover what’s going on outside.”
I stared at him, numb. Jane burst into tears, and Lauren sank down abruptly to the floor.
James looked abashed. “Oh hell. Sorry. Sorry! Of course you can’t—Oh God. We won’t have you guys back on camera. Don’t worry about it. Let me—I’ll have someone come get you something to drink and, oh Jesus. Just take care of each other, okay? I’ll send someone.”
He hurried away. Emilio steered me over to a couch, and we sat down.
I could feel my memories of The Wall, all of our memories, all of our loss, thick around us, suffocating. My mind went back to the cafeteria, where I held my T-shirt against Brian’s wound.
Gun violence was so random. Wrong place, wrong time, an inch this way, an inch that way. A bag of cough drops in a locker. And if Brian had died, I never would have known him.
“Think of something nice,” Emilio said, rubbing my arm. “That’s what I learned. Think of something nice.”
I tried to say I was fine, but my voice didn’t work, and I realized I was still shaking hard.
Something nice. I thought about the poem Brian had given me for Christmas, “Lion.”
I’d memorized that poem. Hell, I’d practically eaten the paper, I loved it so much. I quoted the lines in my head now, over and over. You smile at me, and I can move mountains. Dive to the bottom of the sea, just to bring you a pearl.
Over and over.
By the time one of the interns came in with our bowl of phones, I felt a little more under control. “Someone is beeping like mad,” she said as she passed the bowl around.
It wasn’t me, because I’d turned off my phone. But when I turned it on, I had lots of texts from Mom and from Brian. Mom had been watching the live show and was freaking out even though the network kept saying everyone on the set was fine. I sent her a text to let her know I was all right.
And Brian—
Jesus, Brian.
I excused myself and found an armchair in a quiet corner of the green room.
Brian picked up on the first ring. “Landon! Oh, God! You’re okay?”
“Yeah. I am. I’m okay.” I still didn’t sound like myself.
“Honestly? You weren’t hurt in the panic or—”
“I’m fine. Really. God, Bri. I just wish I could hold you right now.”
“Me too! Have you been watching the news? They’re saying one of them is dead. ‘The younger one,’ they said, so they must mean Gordo. And they have the older one under arrest. That’s Fishbinder. They were in a hotel across from the park.”
“What? Gordo? What?”
“Gordo Stahler and Mr. Fishbinder. They were the shooters at The Wall. And they’re the ones who attacked the show.”
My mind was reeling. “Are you—Seriously? How do you know all this?”
Brian’s laugh came over the line, bright and sharp and slightly mad. “Oh, dude! I have so much to tell you.”
Chapter 34
Brian
LANDON WALKED out of airport security wearing his black parka and his red backward baseball cap. He looked so cute and solid and vibrating with life. The butterflies in my stomach took wing. His eyes met mine, and then he was in my arms. We hugged for a long, long time.
I held his strong, warm body against mine and thought about the fact that this night could have ended very differently. I had to turn my face into his coat. I managed not to cry, but Sandra and Rex didn’t hold back.
“You’re never leaving my sight again,” Sandra sobbed as she hugged Landon.
“Surely they make those baby snugglers in an extra-extra-large,” Rex joked as he wiped away tears.
That made Sandra and Landon laugh.
“I’m okay. It was terrifying, but I’m okay.”
“And you will never need to say ‘I’m okay’ to me again,” Sandra insisted, blowing her nose.
“Brian said it was Gordo and Mr. Fishbinder,” Landon said. “How did they figure that out?”
“Let’s talk in the car,” his dad said. “I think we all want to get you home safe right now.”
I filled Landon in as we drove home, him and me in the back seat, Rex driving, and Sandra twisted around in the passenger seat so she could hear the story again. I told him how I’d worked it out with help from Cameron.
“I can’t believe it was a teacher,” Landon said, squeezing my hand. “Fishbinder! Christ. I never had the guy. Do they know why he did it?”
“They haven’t gotten that far,” Landon’s mom said. “Hopefully they’ll learn more in the days and weeks ahead. For now, I’m just relieved they caught them. And Brian… you’re one smart cookie.”
“Desperate cookie is more like it,” I muttered.
“He’s my hero,” Landon said with a warm smile that made me wish we were alone.
“The police came by our house tonight to take a statement from Brian,” Sandra said.
“Detective Mike,” I added. “He’s the one who interviewed me in the hospital and gave me his card. And he’s the one who called the threat in to the NYPD.”
“Thank God he believed you. So they didn’t have Fishbinder as a suspect at all?” Landon asked, rubbing the back of my neck absently with one hand.
“I asked him that. He said they paid special attention to anyone at the school who had a military background. Turns out Fishbinder was in the Army. But because he had a student with him at the time of the shooting, and they appeared to have been barricaded in their room the whole time, they didn’t think he did it.”
I thought about the subtle ways Fishbinder had manipulated our class. “I also think he’s a very good liar.”
Gordo wasn’t a good liar. But Fishbinder could have told him exactly what to say. Acting nervous would be normal for anyone who’d lived through the shooting. And there were so many kids to interview. Maybe he was simply crossed off early and never reexamined as a suspect. If Cameron had told the cops the truth, about Gordo inviting him down to the basement for a smoke, they probably would have looked at Gordo harder. But there was no way of knowing for sure.
“Well, I think they convinced themselves the shooters had left the scene,” Sandra put in with a shake of her head. “And it is hard to believe that they changed clothes and went right back into the school. Talk about nerve!”
“Cold-bloodedness,” Rex said darkly.
“How do you feel about it?” Landon asked, still rubbing my neck. “Gordo was once a friend of yours.”
I thought about that. “I guess I should feel sorry for him. For his mom. But I’m so angry. What he did…. That was a choice he made. He doesn’t deserve my sympathy. Or anyone else’s.”
Landon and his mom exchanged a knowing look.
“I’m right there with you, Brian,” Sandra said.
“Yeah.” Landon nodded.
“Anyway. All that
matters is that you’re safe.” I shifted so I could put my arm around his shoulders and hug him closer to me. I didn’t think I’d be able to get enough contact with him, not for a while.
“And the shooters from The Wall are caught.” Landon took ahold of my chin and made me look into his eyes. His face was serious. “The shooters are caught, and they’ll never hurt anyone again. They’ll never hurt you again, Bri.”
I knew what he was trying to tell me. I was free. Not that I didn’t still have a long way to go to full recovery, but at least now I could walk that road. Gordo was dead, and Fishbinder, God willing, would never see daylight again.
“It’s over,” I said.
And for the first time, I believed it.
Epilogue: “18 Chairs” by Brian Marshall
18 chairs are empty today
As we say goodbye to The Wall.
We carry you with us, forever in us,
Whispering dreams of a better world.
I used to ask: Why me? Why did I survive?
It took me a long time to see the real question:
How can I use this gift of life
To honor those who fell?
To ensure there is never another gray September day
Like that gray September day?
Never another perfectly ordinary, extraordinary school
Like Jefferson Waller High.
Never friends, sons, daughters, sisters, and brothers who are stolen
The way ours were taken from us.
We leave this ground hallowed by blood and tears
To go out into the world and tell our story.
Their story.
To be agents for change.
But most of all to live. Simply live.
To love, because in love lies immortality.
To remember, always, the value of each moment of life
Of each friendship. Of every smile.
To my fellow graduates I say:
You helped one another stand when standing seemed impossible.
Thank you for shining in the darkness.
To our missing classmates I say, from the bottom of my heart:
You will never be forgotten.
June 2020
Landon
WHEN BRIAN read the “18 Chairs” poem at his graduation ceremony, there was not a dry eye in the house. I stood up, along with my mom and dad, Madison and Josiah, Brian’s mom, his sister Lisa, and even his dad. We clapped and hugged and cried, and when I looked around, everyone else in the audience was doing the same.
Just like there had been at my graduation last year, there were empty chairs up front to represent the members of the graduating class who’d been killed in the shooting. And Brian had somehow put into words what was impossible to say about that loss. He had such a gift with words. And with emotions too.
Later, when he took his diploma, he waved at us and gave me a private smile. What a handsome guy. Gah. My chest swelled with pride at his accomplishment. It had been a long road, but he’d come out the other side with colors flying—with rainbow colors flying.
As usual, Brian could take me from grief to aching love to hella horny within the space of a single hour. And he frequently did.
After he’d moved in with us full-time last year, my parents gave him the choice of whether he wanted to stay at The Wall or switch to another school. Brian decided to stay. He said it was more bearable because the shooters had been caught. And he thought he should stay at The Wall so he could be in a position to help me with protests and organizing once I graduated.
It had about knocked me off my chair when he’d said that, to be honest. But he’d been as good as his word. A #NeverAgain group had been very active at The Wall this past year, and Brian was one of the ringleaders.
I’d spent the year since my graduation working in DC. I’d interned for one senator, worked on an election campaign for another, and spent countless hours at town hall meetings, on the phones, and in the streets, talking about gun violence. It had been tough at times, having a long-distance relationship. Sometimes Brian and I had gone for a month without seeing each other in the flesh. But when I came home, Brian was there, and he’d flown to DC a few times to see me.
We’d been through so much. No way was a little thing like distance going to break us. No way. Brian was my soul mate. The other half of my heart. He told me he felt the same with every poem he wrote me.
After the ceremony, and hugging about a million people, we went back to our place, where the ’rents were hosting a graduation party. Brian’s mom had worked on it with my mom, and his family was there. Madison, Josiah, and Cameron came over along with other friends from The Wall.
“Hereditary was absolutely the best horror movie of 2018,” Madison said, a plate of food in her hand and her eyebrows raised in a challenge.
Josiah made a pfft noise. “Not even! It was the new Halloween movie. Jamie Lee Curtis kicks ass for an old chick.”
Madison gaped. “Does the word originality not mean anything to you, sir? Halloween was fun, but it was totes fan service. Do you seriously not see that?”
“Bae, he’s yanking your chain.” Sophia walked over to Madison, holding a huge piece of chocolate cake. “Not even Josey believes what he’s saying. Here. Help me eat this.”
Josiah suddenly cracked up. “God, Maddy. You’re so easy.”
“I hate you,” Madison said just before taking a forkful of chocolate goo from Sophia.
“Then you’re both wrong,” Cameron said, spearing a slice of roast beef at the buffet table. “Halloween was way the hell better than Hereditary. Awesome movie.”
Annnnd that started a four-way debate.
Surprisingly, Cameron had turned out not to be such an awful human being. After Gordo’s death, he went into a sort of existential crisis, calling Brian at all hours of the night. When he emerged from that, he’d changed. He tried to be nice to people. Like, visibly tried. He’d even apologized to Josiah along with his various other victims. Not that Josiah took it seriously, but Cameron did actually say the words, “I’m sorry for being such a dick.”
It was freaky, yet I had to give the guy props for making an effort. Of course, on the football field, he was still ruthless, Brian said.
Brian came up behind me and put his chin on my shoulder. “Madison and Josiah still need a referee following them around.”
“Yeah, that used to be my job.”
“You’d think after a year of college they’d—”
“Be more mature? Nah.”
“Appreciate each other?” Brian suggested.
I smiled. “Oh, they do. They appreciate arguing with each other.”
I turned and slipped my arms around his waist. He gave me a brief kiss on the mouth.
“Aren’t you brave, with your dad in the room and everything,” I murmured.
He shrugged. “Mom says it’s been a ‘growing experience’ for him. So he can grow a little more today.”
I looked around. Brian’s dad was talking to my dad near the TV. I noticed he was studiously not looking at us, and his face was flushed. He was clearly not comfortable, but he was here, and that was something. I guess Brian’s mom had given him an ultimatum, and he’d turned off his radio shows and joined her new church, which was an inclusive Episcopalian one. He’d been showing up when Brian met his mom and sister at restaurants, and Brian had been going over to their house for meals too. According to Brian, they just didn’t talk about the gay thing.
Josiah came over to us. To my surprise, he hugged Brian. Really hugged him. And Brian hugged him back.
“Congratulations, quarterback,” Josiah said. “Who knew you had brains too?”
Brian chuckled, letting him go. “I think they were excited to get rid of me. Here! Have a diploma!”
“No doubt. After the way you nailed Fishbinder, you probably had all the teachers quaking in their boots.”
I felt a spark of temper at that. “Fishbinder deserved it.”
Josiah
held up his hands. “Yeah, bitch. I know. Just sayin’. No secret is safe around our Sherlock here.”
“I only use my superpower for good,” Brian insisted.
Lawrence Fishbinder was currently sitting in Potosi Correctional Center awaiting execution. He’d written a two-hundred-page manifesto, which, happily, the media had refused to print. Supposedly there was a lot of mumbo jumbo in it about a new civil war and a “final and necessary separation” of the United States into red and blue zones. He seemed to think if the libs banned guns it would trigger the war. Or some such horseshit.
Brian and I had discussed it at length. In the end, we figured all his philosophy was a smoke screen. Because when Fishbinder picked up that gun, he shot real kids, kids he knew. There had to be hatred in his heart, probably nurtured through years of being a teacher. Hatred for us, for his students, for kids in general, or even all mankind. Who the hell knows or cares. He doesn’t deserve to be contemplated. As a history teacher, I hope he gets the ultimate insult—to be entirely forgotten.
As for Gordo, no one will ever really know. He didn’t leave a manifesto or even a letter. Brian figures Fishbinder got in with Gordo as a father figure and filled his head with all his insane ideas. It was sad.
“So Madison says you’re both going to Purdue in the fall?” Josiah asked. “How did you work that magic?”
Brian glanced at me, smiling. “We applied to a bunch of schools, but Purdue offered Landon a full ride, so that pretty much sealed the deal. With luck, we’ll be able to get through college without acquiring vast amounts of debt.”
“Now I see why you took a gap year,” Josiah teased me. “Waiting for your boy toy.”
“That’s not why I—”
“Yeah, yeah.” Josiah waved a hand. “I know, Mr. DC Intern. You still planning on pre law?”
“Poli-sci for undergrad. We’ll see where the spirit leads me after that. But it’d be useful to have a law degree, for sure.”
