Blink.
Breathe.
Count: 1, 2, 3.
Wipe away the tear that escaped.
Blink.
Breathe.
Count: 1, 2, 3.
Wipe away the tear.
Pretend you are fine even though you are breaking little by little…
That is my routine. Take the day one by one.
Hide your fear, your stress, your tears. Don’t let them see your true self.
I can’t be a kid. I’ve had to be as mature as an older kid
since I was the age of a kindergartener.
I can’t take it anymore. I can’t fake it anymore.
The tears have been wanting to come out for months now. But I don’t let them.
I have to be smart, be mature, act older than I am.
I never had those blissful childhood years.
I never had the cute, themed, little-kid classrooms everyone else had.
It was fine when I was younger.
I didn’t understand that those years of my life would slip away.
I didn’t understand that it was possible to miss something you never had.
I miss those years.
I wish I had those memories.
But I don’t.
I have to be a perfect student.
I have to get perfect grades.
I have to be perfect.
I’m eleven years old. I’m in seventh grade. I’m too young for this.
My brain is always running its own wild course.
What if? What if? What if?
As I walk through the halls of my school, I hear cheers.
“Fight! Fight!” they scream.
I stop. Lift my eyes from the ground. There is a fight.
Thump-thump-thump goes my heart.
The goal is no longer to get to my class on time.
It is to arrive there unscathed.
I can see my class up ahead.
I have to pass through the fight and the kids egging them on.
It’s not safe.
My heart vibrates.
My head swirls.
My muscles tense.
My breathing gets ragged.
I miss my mom.
I miss my dad.
I miss my sister.
They’d protect me, I know it.
But at school, it’s every kid for themselves.
I can be risky and pass through the fight,
hopefully getting to class on time.
Or I can take the long way around, safe, but late to class.
Part of my brain yells,
“Go through it. It does not matter if you get scraped or pushed.
Be on time. BE PERFECT!!!”
“No. Stay safe.”
C’mon, Sophia.
Go the long way around.
This won’t end anytime soon,” the other part of my brain screams.
I have to decide.
I blink.
I close my eyes and count.
I take a deep breath.
I wipe away my persistent tear. Repeat.
I’m going through.
I have to be perfect.
I go in. I quicken my pace. I walk through dozens of kids.
There are so many people that I can’t see what is happening.
This is not a new thing.
At my school, it’s a surprise if a day goes by without this.
I am accustomed to this.
‘I just wanna go home,’ I think to myself.
‘I don’t wanna do this anymore.’
I look up at the last minute.
Two kids are chasing each other, laughing. I dodge.
My backpack takes the hit, and it falls.
The kids look back, but just laugh and turn around, ignoring me.
I bend down, shielding my head with one arm.
You never know what might happen.
My backpack safely back on me, I keep going.
BAM!
Out of nowhere, a kid pushes me.
I stumble against a locker.
“Ow…” I cry weakly. The kid just smirks, laughing.
“Do you have a boo-boo, little kid?
Do you need your mommy?” he says, laughing even more now.
I don’t show feelings.
I just stare at him with a stern glance.
Inside, I am crying. ‘Yes!’ I want to say.
‘Yes, I need my mommy! I AM hurt! I can’t take this anymore.’
I rub my sore shoulder.
This is not okay. This should not happen.
Two minutes have passed now.
The one-minute timer appears on the clock—one minute to get to class.
The crowd has started to disperse.
I’m scared.
I take a deep breath.
I tell myself, ‘Keep going.’
I walk to class. I sit down at my desk.
I open my computer. I do my bellringer.
My heartbeat slows,
but I know it won’t get completely normal until I get home.
“Today, we will…” my teacher starts.
I want to focus and be neurotypical like my friends.
But I can’t.
I simply wait until the sheet is passed out.
My foot taps, tap-tap-tap-tap.
I flex my fingers, flex-flex-flex-flex.
I fidget, fidget-fidget-fidget-fidget.
My mind runs on its own tracks.
I can’t control it. I think of random things.
My teacher passes out the papers.
I jump, fold my hands on my desk, and smile at my teacher.
I act as if I have been paying attention the whole time.
I look at the paper. I see what it asks to do and do it. I turn it in.
I feel empty. I want to go home.
I dread school. Not for doing work.
For my sanity. It got worse on a seemingly normal, IAR testing Thursday…
I was done with my IAR test.
The bell rings. Time for science.
I don’t have to move classes
since science is led by the same teacher as homeroom.
My friend comes in.
We chat and finish our work.
She asks what I am playing, looking at my computer.
I explain the game.
She goes on it herself.
We play side by side until two minutes before the bell.
Both of us have 504s.
We can leave class early.
I am lucky.
I just don’t know it yet.
I’m lucky because I can stay in the same class for another period.
She starts to leave.
I wave goodbye to her
and tell her to keep me posted on her advancements in the game.
She laughs and agrees. She leaves.
I won’t know if she made it to class safely until I am at home.
I don’t know what happened to most of my friends.
I sit at my W.I.N. desk and open my computer.
It sounds like there is a fight outside.
People are yelling. I roll my eyes.
Can’t these kids give it a rest?
But it is more than just a fight.
Because a girl freezes in her stride.
“EVERYONE! SHHH!” she yells, frightened. “What?” I ask.
I wonder exactly what happened to make her so scared.
“There is a code red! Everyone, quiet. Listen!”
No one pays attention. The class is so loud that we can’t hear the loudspeaker.
My teacher steps out of the classroom to check.
She returns, anxious.
“Everyone. Hide,” she says.
The last drill we had was ages ago. I don’t remember where to hide.
The kids file into her closet to hide.
The teacher looks confused. I have a feeling that is not where we are supposed to hide.
I stay frozen.
Where to hide?
What to do?
What is happening?
Screams, blood-curdling screams, can be heard outside.
A kid runs into the class. He is one of my friends.
Something tells me he just barely escaped.
A different kid frog-walks to the closet.
I can’t tell if he is trying to be funny or trying to be stealthy.
I go into the closet. It seems safe.
Another kid skips around the room.
He says that if he is going to go, he is going to go having fun.
My heart vibrates.
My head swirls.
My muscles tense.
My breathing gets ragged.
I think this is real.
I hide under a shelf. I clutch the toy I brought to school that day.
He helps. He is a puppy. His name is Noble.
It helps to take care of something.
It helps to feel like the goal is not to survive.
It is to take care of my dog.
But
My head still swirls.
My heart still vibrates.
My muscles are still tense.
My breathing still is ragged.
I miss my mom
I miss my dad.
I miss my sister.
I miss my dog, Peanut.
I hear my dad say, “Have a good day at school! See you later!”
I feel the kiss my mom gave me when I left.
I hear my sister say, “Love ya, little sis.”
I feel my dog’s wet lick on my cheek.
I’m scared.
Some kids ask my teacher for gummy bears.
How? How are they thinking about snacks? When we could die.
A kid hides in a cupboard.
“Sophia.” He whispers. I look up. My eyes are red, but no tears have come out.
“Find a cupboard,” he says. “You’ll fit, if I can.”
I am too scared to talk. I nod my thanks instead.
I try to text my parents before entering the cupboard.
“I love you. There is a code red. I think it is real.”
But.
My watch does not pick up the wi-fi.
Not sent, it says.
I used to think the worst feeling was being anywhere without my parents.
I was wrong.
The worst feeling is thinking you will die without your family knowing you love them.
I sit in that cupboard with my toy.
Kids are crying, even the ones who act tough.
The kid who entered class at the last minute
is putting baking soda and salt on a stapler.
“I can jab him in the eyes if he comes,” he says,
talking of the shooter we all presumed was prowling the building.
Some kids think that nothing is happening.
They go to the actual classroom and just hang out.
I stay in my cupboard.
It’s one of the safest places.
I don’t plan on leaving any time soon.
Suddenly, we hear
BANGING
On the door.
Kids scream and run into the closet.
I can’t see what is happening.
For all I know, a murderer entered the room and killed my friends.
I am scared.
Scared.
Scared.
Scared.
False alarm, they say.
Sure, there was banging, but the person left, they say.
It does not reassure me.
After a bit, the kids leave again.
After about half an hour, the loudspeaker says it is all clear.
But I am still scared.
Every time I close my eyes, from that day forward,
I hear the screams.
The screams of kids outside.
I will remember this day forever.
We all thought there was a murderer in the building.
But they say it was a fight. The fight got out of hand.
So a teacher pulled the alarm.
My mom picks me up early and cradles me.
I thought that I would never see her again.
My dad rushes home and hugs me.
I thought I would never see him again.
When my sister comes, she hugs me too
I thought I would never see her again.
I pet my pupper.
I thought I would never see him again.
An email is sent from the school. They called it an incident.
Said they could not disperse the crowd. They say it was a mere five minutes.
I was hiding in that cupboard for ages.
Now, every time an alarm or timer goes off, I jump. Now, I jump at everything.
I will never be the same again.
But I keep going.
Because I have to be perfect.
Because I have been trained my whole life to be a good student.
But I have learned that the goal is not to be perfect.
That you keep going not for others, but for yourself.
Because you are the one who will live the rest of your life.
Keep going for yourself.
You are your own saviour.