IT ALL HAPPENED SO FAST.
By: Kaitlyn Boniecki
One minute the student section was up and cheering for the winning touchdown scored by Louis Peterson, and the next, twenty, thirty, forty or more lay dead or dying at the hands of one of their fellow classmates.
And I saw it all unfold.
Louis Peterson had started left, rolled right, faking out his defender, and dodged several tackles before diving into the end zone. I had given a small cheer along with the rest of the crowd on my way back from the concession stand. The game was over after that final miraculous play, which meant that the Lions were victorious against the Indians for the first time in ten years. My friend, Kellin, was acting rowdy with the group we were walking in as we all continued to make our way back to the stands, swearing at people from the Indians’ side. I remember thinking about Nationals, and how I thought we would inevitably get knocked out the first round. Then I thought about how my father would complain on the way home and my mother would just stare out the window. She never did care for my dad’s ramblings about football. Or any other sport for that matter.
“Did you see that play? Amazing!” Kellin had shouted while nudging me in the side. I flinched away at his touch unintentionally, giving him a small “Yeah” of acknowledgement. He returned it with a small smile. “I’m sorry. I forgot.”
I muttered, “Forget about it.” But he didn’t hear me. He was already busy with his friends again. It was always like that. He would say something. I would barely respond. He wouldn’t hear me. But that was just us and our weird relationship.
We were almost back to the stands by then, getting caught behind an elderly couple gushing about their “wonderful Louis.” I had glanced to the student section, full of gold and red bodies cheering and jeering at the other team. Calling them names I feel dirty thinking about.
They had all looked so happy, so alive. Their faces were dancing, and it was difficult to tell anyone apart once our traditional “Victory Song” sounded from the band. I returned my gaze back to the pathway, trailing behind Kellin and the others like a baby duck. I don’t fit in here. I shouldn’t be here.
But then, I saw him. Him. Just thinking about his gorgeous face now gives me the chills. I lifted my hand to give him a wave, to call him over so we could be baby ducks together like always, but stopped my hand in midair when I realized there was something terribly wrong with his expression. Nervousness, pain, anger, and sadness had twisted into his usually brilliant blue eyes. I thought, What is he doing? What is he holding?
Before I could even register what was happening, Louis Peterson fell from the top of his fellow players’ arms shortly after a resounding Crack! He dropped like a sack of flour, clutching his heart where scarlet was seeping through his uniform. People were screaming, his mother’s probably being the loudest, but no one could figure out where the shot came from. Police officers were searching frantically, all at the same time trying to usher out people from the stands.
I had figured it out. It was him. The boy with the radiant blue eyes. He held a gun, pointed at Louis Peterson’s previous position with an amazed look on his face. Like he couldn’t believe that he had just done it, and that the boy’s life would end so quickly. He had turned-almost robotically- towards the frightened and panicking student section. Joey, the student section cheer-leader, pointed to him, shouting something like, “Hey! Everybody get down!” but it was already too late for him. A second Crack! One that will be forever imprinted in my memory, brought him down, with blood pouring from his chest. Another perfect shot. Straight through the heart. How could he have done that? After everything that we talked about…
The people around him screamed, but soon their screams were muffled by the blood coming from their mouths.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
More students toppled over, revealing more and more bloodshed.
I began to run towards him, to make him stop, but Kellin had grabbed my arm shouting, “Get down! Don’t go near that freak!”
Freak? Is that what you think he is? Can’t you see what people like you’ve done to him?!
I struggled to rip my arm out of his grip, but it was no use. I couldn’t move. Kellin’s grip had always been like steel. I tried instead to desperately call out to him, telling him to stop, to come to me and talk like he did before, but he didn’t look my way. Like he was purposely refusing to look me in the eyes. More and more gunshots rang out from his hand. I counted them all, too. Sixty-four, his favorite number. All shot. with accuracy rivaling a sniper.
After the sixty-third shot, he turned to me, finding me almost instantly. That was the kind of connection we had, you know. We always knew where each other was. That’s how we found each other in the beginning. Anyways, he turned to me, tears streaming from those now haunting eyes. A small, scared smile graced his lips. “I’m sorry.” He mouthed to me before putting the gun against his temple. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and from his face I could tell he was thinking hard about something, before opening them again. “I love you.” He mouthed again.
I tried one last time to stop him, yanking my arm free of Kellin’s grip. I think he was stunned like I was. I ran towards him at full speed, screaming at the top of my lungs. “STOP! DON’T DO THIS. PLEASE.”
But I was too late. Shot sixty-four rang out, and it felt like someone threw a huge bucket of ice water on me. He crumbled right there on the path, a gaping, bleeding hole covering the side of his head. I remember holding him, not caring about the blood. Not caring about the people fighting to get away. All I cared about was getting one last look into those eyes I fell in love with.