I never really was a morning person, but in the past decade it has gotten worse. I slide into my wheelchair and wheel myself towards my kitchen. Out of the window I see the blazing sun beat down on my Denver apartment. Ignoring the weather, I drive myself to the pantry. These days breakfast is mind numbingly basic:  some toast with strawberry jam and coffee. While waiting for the toast, my mind drifts back to high school, back to the reason I can’t walk, that fateful day when everything changed.

 

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          Ugh, I hate Tuesdays, was all that was on my mind on my way to school. My busted car sputtered as I drove. Even though I understood college debt came before nice cars, it still irked me seeing my classmates pulling up to school in BMWs or benzes. I wish I had the kind of money to drive those kinds of cars.  But besides that life was good;  high school was almost over and the Broncos won the Super Bowl. I parked my car and walked towards the entrance. The spring air whistled past me like arrows as I walked into the building.

As I walked I shot a passing glance at the clock at 8.45; damn, I’m late. I ran through the halls like my life depended on it for the first time; I hoped  nobody would catch me. Thankfully it only took me three minutes to get to class.

“Eighteen minutes late, really?”  Mr.Desantis emphasized.

“I know, I won’t make it a trend,” I replied.  I liked Philosophy class, but today was extra dark. We were studying the work of Niche.The only one who ever liked Niche was Eric, but for some reason he wasn’t here; weird. The work blows. I should have bailed and not showed up today, but I can’t afford to miss even a day with the test coming up, so I just have to put up with it for now. As I finished my thought the bell rang.

I walked out of class towards the west entrance to go eat lunch. As I walked, I heard a bone rattling scream come from a girl outside. I wasn’t sure why anyone was screaming. Maybe it is a senior prank, but no.  There was Eric with a shotgun shooting at the people outside, probably paintballs. I froze, terrified as I saw blood spray from the girl who screamed; these were real rounds. The blood droplets spattered across the pavement like paint on a canvas.  Everything after that felt instantaneous; chaos erupted around me, and screams rang throughout the school with people racing every which way like insects below a human hand. My lungs felt like they were exploding as I raced through hallways with only one thing on my mind, surviving.

When I finally skidded to a stop at the library, adrenaline was all that was keeping me from collapsing. I took short and greedy breaths as I tried to calm down, but it was no good. My instincts would not allow me a second of peace. Then fear kicked back in as I scrambled to find a desk to hide under. As I bolted to hide, I passed faces masked with terror, each of them knowing there was a good chance they would not make it out alive. I was just like them, screaming inside like a caged animal just wanting to escape. But I put on a brave facade, hoping my fear didn’t show.

Finally, I slid under a table. All I could do now was wait and pray that death didn’t come for me now. I wonder what will I do if I survive, will I go on to be a normal person and act like nothing ever happened? No, I could never forget this. No matter how much I try this will never go away, anything but; it will be a constant terror in my mind for decades.

The only noise was in my head as a dreadful silence washed over the library. That all went to hell as boots stomped in the hallway. One thing played over a million times in my head: I am going to die.

The door creaked and then opened when two people walked in. With Eric was this nerdy looking blonde kid, but more importantly, he had a shotgun too. They walked past the counter, and then Eric started blasting rounds into the computer table, hitting one of the guys hiding.  I could only try not to think of the shells ripping through him.  Destroying everything indiscriminately, maiming or killing him, I couldn’t even tell which was worse. I just wanted to run a million miles away. But something kept me rooted in place despite all my instincts.  Then they set down their backpacks and walked towards the other computer tables. Thankfully, nobody was hiding there. The sound of glass shattering rang through the air as Eric and the other guy shot out the windows with their shotguns. My mind raced through possible options: should I run or should I try and fight: what do I do? I couldn’t bring myself to decide, nor did I bring myself to move. All I could do was watch as the blonde kid turned and shot at the table next to me.

My mind stopped begging me to move as the blonde kid unloaded buckshot straight into my hip. An ocean of scarlet spread across me, and my vision became blurry. Is this really happening? Am I going to die like this, bleeding out under a table? My future is a ‘what if.’  I couldn’t finish my thought before my vision turned black.

The next thing I heard ringing in my ear was a mechanical beep coming from one of those heartbeat sensors they have in movies. I opened my eyes to find myself in a blindingly white room, not heaven, but one of those obnoxiously colorless hospital rooms that looks like they have been bleached twenty times. The door opened, and a cop walked in with some suits. This can’t be good.

“Hello, son, my name is Larry Shoefeild.  I'm the sheriff for Jefferson County.  We are aware that you saw the shooters and were in class with one of them.”

“Obviously! Now tell me what the hell happened to everyone else!” I cried out with grief, coating my words.

“Look, calm down, we will tell you after you tell us what happened.”

“Fine, Eric was a weird kid, into a lot of German stuff, working at a pizza place. There was nothing I saw that would make me think he would shoot up the damn school.”

 “Okay, and what about Klebold?” the cop inquired.

“I didn’t know the kid,” I retorted. “Now tell me what happened!” I demanded.

“Thirteen dead, twenty-three injured, and then the shooters killed themselves.” 

It was all over the news that the whole country was focused on Columbine High School. There is no word in any language that could come close to describing what I felt at that moment. A strange mix of rage, guilt and sadness swept over me. I couldn’t take what I heard. I broke down and began to sob. Sorrow held me with a vice grip with nothing being able to make me even speak, not until I was told I could never walk again. I should have been a mess, but I was just guilty that I only lost my ability to walk, not my life like all those other innocent people. But nonetheless, I was sent back home.

I left that day without my dignity and pride. I was pushed back with nothing but my life and scars to show for the hell I had to go through. Life meant nothing to me now; my ambition and my goals were destroyed. The only thing keeping me going was a never ending hatred for anyone close to Klebold or Eric. The bastards killed themselves so they could never suffer for what they did. I was stuck blaming their families wrongly.

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I wheel myself onto the plane.  Destination: Washington D.C. I can’t exactly march, but I can speak, and speak I will. “Students of America, I appreciate you coming. I am here because nineteen years ago guns took my happiness. Now I am here to stop it from happening to you.” A thunder of applause echoes through the National Mall.

 

 

 

 

-Cal A.