Authors: Edith Pattou
the article for the school paper
about
that night.
I heard he did it
because he was
fed up
with all the
half-truths
and the
controversy.
And it was good he did.
Because the stories that had been
swirling around
were freakish, scary.
Not that what happened
wasn’t
freakish.
Scary.
It was.
But not:
that we came upon
Walter Smith eviscerating
a dead crow,
or
that he stuck a gun in Emma’s
mouth and made her beg
for her life.
But when everyone learns
how Chloe got the shooter
to give her
the gun,
well, that did it.
The story spread like wildfire
and Chloe was all anyone could
talk about.
ANIL
1.
There were a lot of rumors
going around,
so I decided to tell
what really happened,
the truth, as I saw it,
which is:
2.
We were in the SUV,
Chloe and Maxie and I,
with Felix,
who had lost
consciousness.
I had taken over from Chloe,
keeping up the
pressure on the
makeshift, blood-soaked bandage
and Maxie was holding Felix’s hand,
telling him to hang on
and that he’d be all right.
Then some noise or movement
from outside the car
made all three of us
look up at the same time,
and we saw, and heard,
the final gunshot,
saw Brendan and Emma go down.
There was a horrible moment
of silence, then Maxie
let out a gasping sound
and a stricken whispered
oh no please God.
We stared out at the shooter,
who was still holding the rifle,
standing very still,
gazing down at the bodies
lying on the ground.
I remember thinking how small
he looked. Like a boy.
Then I heard
Chloe let out a sigh.
She slid through the half-open car door
and hobbled across the grass,
her right foot slipping around
in her bloody sandal.
The shooter didn’t move,
just watched her
coming toward him.
3.
She stopped a couple of feet
away from him
and held out her hand.
I swear she looked like some
unearthly angel-madonna.
After a few seconds,
the shooter handed her
the rifle.
Just like that.
She looked down at the gun,
like she didn’t know
what to do with it.
Then she threw it away.
The rifle skittered
across the sidewalk
with a harsh, clattering sound,
then came to a stop.
4.
Sirens were getting louder
and the shooter,
the small kid in a baggy green sweatshirt,
suddenly sat down
on the curb
and started to cry.
Chloe crossed over
and sat next to him.
When the first ambulance arrived,
with a police car right behind it,
she was still there.
Sitting beside him.
CHLOE
“Reasons We Do Things”
I don’t really know
why I did it.
He just looked so pathetic,
this skinny little guy
who’d hurt all these people
and didn’t seem to understand
any of it.
And all of a sudden
I got fed up.
Someone needed
to take that stupid gun
away from him
before anyone
else got shot.
I guess he could have shot me, too,
but I didn’t really think about it,
not then.
Which was dumb.
Except this time
it turns out
I was dumb
and
I was smart.
Wednesday, September 29
POLICE CHIEF AUBREY DELAFIELD
Walter Smith was denied bail,
which was no surprise.
I attended the hearing
and the kid looked like a ghost,
paste-white pale,
and like he had no clue
where he was.
When I realized he was headed for
Cook County Jail, I knew Walter Smith
would be eaten alive.
So I put in a word,
to see if there was any way
to keep him sequestered.
Turned out he was on suicide watch
so they put him in solitary.
And kept him there.
Even now, a month later,
gawkers still drive by the house,
but there’s nothing to see.
The house is deserted.
A distant cousin came
and put Adeline in an assisted-care facility.
We had the photos printed up,
the ones Maxine Kalman took that night.
There’s one of those two girls,
their smiling faces lit up
by the light of their cell phones.
And when I think of what came after,
the sidewalk slick with blood,
the ambulances,
the havoc done to so many lives,
the memory of those smiling faces
knocks me flat.
It’s an image
that will stay burned
in my mind.
Forever.
CHLOE
“How Much It Sucks to Be a Cult Leader”
The cult thing
freaked me out.
I mean, it seemed so stupid.
Freshman girls
following me around.
The hockey goalie
who brought me flowers
every day for a week.
Little pieces of candy
stuffed into my locker.
Even Josh began to bug me,
being so nice all the time.
It seemed fake.
I mean, it made no sense.
None of it had
anything
to do with what
really happened
that night.
It got so I didn’t want
to go to school,
but Mom made me.
She said it would
die down eventually.
Which it did,
finally.
During the worst of it
I started going
to the hospital
every day after school.
I liked being there.
I liked the smell of it,
which I know sounds weird.
This one orderly,
a guy with dreads
and a friendly, jokey manner,
asked me why I was there
all the time
so I told him.
He suggested I might want
to volunteer.
There are kids
from the high school,
he said
who volunteer here.
Nothing too glamorous,
but since you like it here,
might as well put you
to work.
He sent me to a lady
who said she could fix me up
with about seven hours a week.
I think that orderly
with the dreads
put in a good word for me,
plus, let’s face it,
everyone at the hospital
knew I was one of
“those kids.”
ANIL
1.
I didn’t set out to
build a shrine.
It just sort of
happened.
It started the morning after
that night
when I placed the pop-top from
the can of MoonBuzz
on my dresser.
I had pried it off while I was talking
to Maxie and Felix,
a nervous habit I have.
Must’ve slipped it in my pocket
when I went into the party.
That afternoon
I added a small splinter of glass,
a shattered bit of windshield,
which I found lodged under a flap
of my cargo shorts.
2.
The third thing I added
was also glass,
a piece of sea glass.
I found it in a jar in our basement,
where we put all the shells
we’ve collected on family trips to Florida.
I don’t remember which trip,
or which of us found it,
but it was a pale, frosty green
and it made me think of Maxie.
3.
Then I added a candle
to represent the
vigil I didn’t attend.
4.
And then a rose.
Because of the roses
in the pots that Chloe broke.
I read about them in the newspaper.
In an article about
the grandmother of the shooter
and about the roses she loved so much.
5.
My mother noticed my shrine.
And she understood right away.
It’s your ghar mandir,
she said.
She told me that in India
people build
ghar mandirs
in their homes,
and each morning
they sit before them,
to still their minds.
To pray.
It will help you heal,
she said.
6.
My dad says nothing about the shrine,
though he must notice it
every time he comes into my room.
I am at my desk,
doing chemistry homework
when he knocks
and opens the door a crack.
Anil,
he says.
A word?
I nod and set down my pen.
I just wanted to tell you,
he says, and his words are halting, not smooth the way he usually speaks,
just how . . . proud I am of you.
I say nothing, surprised.
I spoke to a colleague the other day who knows one of the EMT responders who was on the scene that night, and he said that what you did, the way you reacted, in very extreme circumstances, your quick thinking, probably saved Felix Jones’s life.
I shake my head.
It wasn’t anything. I just . . . ,
I say.
My father raises his hand
to stop me.
Not everyone could have done what you did, son,
he said.
I know you have had your doubts, but I must say this to you now. You have the heart of a doctor. That is all.
And he turns to leave.
I watch him go out the door,
shutting it carefully
behind him,
and part of me is angry,
with the feeling that he is using
this thing that happened,
this nightmarish,
tragic thing
that will haunt me
for the rest of my life,
to point me in the direction
he has always wanted me to go.
But part of me, I confess,
thinks that just maybe he’s right.
And I discover,
with a sense of wonder,
that it makes me
happy.
Monday, October 4
MAXIE
One day at the drugstore
I hear two ladies talking.
. . . drunk, trespassing,
one says.
Well, I’m sorry but I think those kids got what they deserved.
And I immediately know what kids
she’s talking about.
Us kids.
And I wonder,
is she right?
Did
Felix,
Emma,
Faith,
all of us—
even the boy Walter Smith—
did we get
what we
deserved?
CHLOE
“The Blame Game”
Everyone had an opinion
whose fault it was.
Everyone.
Mom’s Aunt Marceline.
My dentist.
The checkout girl at Dominick’s.
The substitute gym teacher with the freakishly large
earlobes.
And one thing I’ve learned is
people aren’t shy about giving
their opinion.
Here’s my tally on how it fell out:
So, yeah, I think about it a lot.
And yeah, I wish I’d kept my mouth shut.
That we’d gone to a 3-D movie instead.
But the truth is, blaming isn’t going to
change one single thing.
And that’s exactly what I said to
that substitute gym teacher
with her stupid big earlobes.
MAXIE
School is torture.
Some days I
can’t even get out
of bed.
I go to a therapist
and it helps.
A little.
She says it’ll
take time.
Emma,
when she came back,
in between
all her surgeries,
wearing a perpetual cast,
tried pulling me into
her wagon train
of friends.
I was grateful at first,
felt a little less lonely,
but then I started feeling
even lonelier than before.
Because it was obvious to me
that Emma’s friends
wished I wasn’t there.
So I started avoiding Emma.
Went back to avoiding everyone,
including Anil.
Especially Anil.
Which is ironic since one of
the few things that
keeps me from crying
is remembering
his story about
the two telescopes.
ANIL
1.
I think about Maxie a lot,
worry about her.
In the first few weeks after
that night
it seemed like I never saw her
around school,
to the point that
I even wondered if her parents
had decided to switch her to
another school.
Then I’d catch a glimpse of her.
But she always stayed far away.
Like she couldn’t bear
the sight of me.
MAXIE