Gone, Gone, Gone(20)

So f*ck frozen cold hearts, because who are they helping?

Fuck you, frozen cold heart.



The school says those of us who don’t drive can’t stand outside waiting for a ride today, that we have to stay inside and stay safe. They have someone stationed outside with a walkie-talkie, and they call out our names when our parents get here. Except in my case it turns out to be not a parent, but a Todd.

I give him a hug because I’m the one who needs one, today.

“Were there any new—” I start to ask, and he shakes his head. It feels like a million years since someone’s been shot. Maybe it’s over. I say, “Can we stop for ice cream or something?”

“I . . . think we should go home, Craigy.” Todd has this way of darting his eyes back and forth when he drives, like he thinks any minute someone’s going to run out from behind some bushes and throw himself in front of our car. And he’s doing it even more right now.

I say, “But I’m hungry, because I didn’t even get to eat half my macaroni and cheese, and school was really boring. Criminally boring. Illegally boring. And I’m hungry.”

“God, you’re like two years old. Try a little perspective? There’s a maniac out there.”

I don’t say, there are like twenty million maniacs out there at any given moment, and none of them have ever shot me before.

I turn away and look out the window. I guess I probably don’t usually see a lot of people standing outside their houses on my drive home from school, but everything still seems eerily empty.

There aren’t any children trekking down the sidewalk with backpacks. That’s what feels so wrong.

I say, “The kids aren’t walking home from school.”

“Not so surprising.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense at all. No one’s shot any kids.”

“And I think they want to keep it that way. The police chief said today, ‘your children are safe in school.’ If I were a parent . . .” Todd messes up his hair. “If I were a parent, I’d want to minimize the time spent between home and school as much as possible.”

And just that minute, the announcer interrupts the international news to tell us there’s been another shooting. It was pretty far away, this one—over an hour by Beltway, all the way in Virginia. Long-range rifle. They’re “not sure” if it’s the same shooter.

Todd curses softly. “Yeah, like it hasn’t been enough time for him to get to Virginia.”

“It could be a her. I don’t think anyone’s even considering it could be a her.” I don’t know. I think girls can do the shitty stuff guys do, now, because the first time Lio told me his mom left, I had the urge to tell him he misspoke. No, your dad left. Moms don’t leave.

Fuck Lio.

Todd says, “I don’t want you out looking for animals today.”

I look up. “Todd, are you kidding?” Did Dad get him to say this? Did he think I wouldn’t argue if it came from Todd? Arguing with Todd is my after-school activity. “So what am I supposed to do, avoid every single time that I could possibly be outside? I can’t just wait until the sniper’s all done to find my animals.”

He shakes his head, watching the road. “It’s not safe to be wandering around. Look, I know you think you’re invincible, but—”

“Okay, look, can we be completely f*cking honest? Doesn’t everyone think they’re invincible? I mean, you should know, isn’t that why people kill themselves, because they’re so convinced the world won’t just boot them off on its own?”

He doesn’t say anything.

“I mean,” I say, “everyone’s always talking about how it’s a teenage thing, how we haven’t developed the part of our brain that’s counting down our seconds left to live or something, but I think it’s got to be just part of being an individual and not being, I don’t know, a thing or a city. Come on, big brother, educate me, tell me the truth. Isn’t there something in you that says you’re not going to die, not because you’re special or privileged or worthy but just because you’re Todd?”

Todd says, “Are you listening to anything I’m saying? It’s not Todd I’m worried about. You’re staying in tonight. Get some homework done. Maybe even get some sleep, for God’s sake. You look like shit.”

Todd’s protectiveness would mean more if I thought he really liked me and didn’t just not want another dead body on his conscience.

I say, “Whoever this guy is, he’s in Virginia right now. Even if he hightails it straight to our backyard, it’ll be another hour at least. Can’t I go look now?”

Todd exhales. “Fine.”

“Thanks, big brother.” I straddle the line between sarcastic and sincere. He chews on his lip. I hope I’m not mean to anyone else the way I’m mean to Todd.

I’m on the walkway to the metro station, and I’m thinking about how I still haven’t seen anyone have sex here. Todd has all the luck.

I can see the pizza place and the Jewish supermarket from here, and I can see everyone in the parking lot running from the cars into the stores and back again.

“She’s not here,” I say out loud, “she’s in Virginia.” But I can’t pretend watching them run doesn’t shake me a little. It shakes me more than any of the news reports. I still don’t think I have anything to be scared about, but it bothers me that they’re scared. It bothers me in a way I can’t shrug off.