Don't leave me

“Don’t leave me!” Mary yelled from behind. I still remember the cold autumn air biting at my nose and ears. The sounds of children screaming and wind ripping through my ears drowning Mary’s voice, so it was barely audible. I slowed to a halt allowing her to catch up only slightly before taking off to ensure I was at the front of the line. Mary eventually made her way to the line but was the last person. She looked at me, and I could see the fear rising in her eyes. The same kind of fear I saw in my mother's eyes that night.

She was new to the school, and, it only being the third week, she didn’t have very many friends. She was the kind of girl who didn’t stand out in a crowd but once you found her you couldn’t peel your eyes away from her. She was quiet. Her hair was a muted shade of red that was often mistaken for brown. She looked like she belonged with the first graders rather than the fifth. Her glasses sat low on her nose while simultaneously hiding her entire face behind the large frames that magnified her stunning green eyes. I remember feeling sorry for her and giving in to her worried eyes by joining her at the back of the line. As soon as I was near her, her worry lines dissipated. She found comfort in my familiarity in a sea of unrecognizable faces.

It continued like this for several years. Mary was always one step behind, and I was always going back for her. I couldn’t find it in my heart to leave her behind. She had that energy about her that always made you want to be the best version of yourself. Her laugh was so utterly contagious you would laugh right along with her till you had tears in your eyes. It was like her soul had been untouched by the horrendous world we live in. Like God put this girl in my life to remind me not to be so cynical, but it's hard not to be with the way I was raised. With my parents, it was always--

“THEO!” Mrs. Ferrars shouted loud enough to snap me out of the trance I found myself in all too often-- now more than ever.

“Uh…yes?” I asked tentatively, trying but failing to recall what we were discussing in class.

“How would you describe the relationship between Nick and Gatsby?” she asks impatiently knowing full well that I didn’t know the answer.

“Um…” my words seem to get lost in my throat, and I can’t make a sound. Typically I’m able to make a witty comeback to make the whole class laugh, and more importantly, make Mary laugh, but today I can’t find the words. There's a weird energy today that I can’t quite put my finger on but when my eyes meet Mary’s from across the room, my spine tenses ever so slightly. For some reason, there's a voice in my head, screaming desperately, telling me to remember that face. Remember the way her eyes light up with emotion when we make eye contact? Whatever tragedy my mind is subconsciously telling me is going to happen is unsettling enough to make me break eye contact.

“And that everyone is why you pay attention in my class. You wouldn’t want to be made a fool such as Mr. Holloway.” A few snickers are let out and I feel my face burn with embarrassment as I sink slowly into the chair. Most days I don’t care about being made a fool. I was used to it at this point. Being best friends with Mary came with the territory. Though she was always one step behind in all other aspects of life, the only thing she ever had over me was academics. She was a genius with dreams to study computer science at MIT and with senior year rapidly approaching, her dreams would soon be her reality. Being compared to Mary had become routine at this point but today I wanted to impress her. To show her that the long hours of tutoring she’d been giving me were finally paying off but, like most people in my life, I had disappointed her yet again. She’s always tried to help me catch up in academics but, with dyslexia and ADHD working against her, her efforts were typically for naught.

Mrs. Ferrars continued babbling about something I wasn’t keen on paying attention to when the bell finally rang. We all shot up from our desks and bolted toward the door. In the chaos, I lost sight of Mary, so I waited outside the classroom for her to appear next to me. It had become our ritual, walking to each class together while I filled her in on something big that always happened at the parties over the weekend. She never liked going, so I always went and filled her in on the high school soap opera that was our life.

As we meandered on through the sea of bodies, we made our way to the front of the building and entered the classroom of the most beloved teacher in the school. Mr. Ortega. He was a tall sturdy man who was former military so he was often loud and aggressive, while other teachers would traditionally be soft and gentle.

We took our seats just as the bell rang. “Alright, everyone! Who’s ready to learn about Physics?” he enthusiastically questioned. “Theo! My man, please enlighten the rest of the class on Newton's third law of motion?” He singled me out like usual knowing full well this was the class I excelled in. Science and math always came a lot easier to me than history or English.

“Every action has an equal and opposite reaction,” I affirmed.

“Excellent as always. So as we begin discussing Newton’s laws…” his voice trailed off as my mind began to wander. This always happened no matter what class I was in. For a reason unbeknownst to me, I constantly found my mind wandering the vast plains of the earth while leaving my body in the desk chair only to be made a fool of when the teacher calls on me, my mind having to hitch a ride on the quickest bus back to school. Typically, it arrived well after I had been berated by the teacher so I was often left scrambling to catch up.

Mr. Ortega seemed to be the only teacher who understood my struggles though. He’s always told me that I was like John Locke or Plato (though I have only the slightest clue of who those people are) and that I was a great thinker who didn’t belong in the “social construct that is standardized schooling.”

“Newton has three laws that we will go over in this class,” Mr. Ortega went on as I focused back in. “Number one: An object in motion will stay in motion unless acted upon by an outside force…” his voice was slowly drowned out by the commotion in the hallway. Mr. Ortega’s classroom is at the front of the school,, right next to the office so we could tell that something was wrong as soon as we heard doors slamming.

The robotic voice over the intercom disrupted our discussion of Newton’s laws. “Attention teachers. We are entering a lockdown. This is not a drill. Lock your doors and stay out of sight.” My stomach dropped while my heart jumped up to my throat. Mr. Ortega’s face went ghostly white as he went over to the door and dropped the little stick into the hole to lock it. His motions were almost mechanical, as if he wasn’t all there. As if he had been switched onto autopilot and his mind had taken a vacation far away from the nightmare that was taking place right here, right now.

We all scrambled to the far back corner of the room, just out of sight of the little glass window on the door. I could hear girls whimpering and hugging each other while the guys looked nervously at one another, too manly to cry but still childish enough to worry. No one knew what was happening or the severity of the situation. All I could think about is Mary who was huddled in the corner, hugging tightly to her knees, hands pressed to her ears, and muttering to herself something that I couldn’t quite make out. I watched her and saw myself. I see a little kid hiding in the corner of the closet, wishing so desperately for the violence to stop. I crawled my way over to her and wrapped my body around her. I could feel the tension in her shoulders loosen only slightly at the feeling of my arms wrapped around her. I didn’t know what to say to ease her fear so I just held her and silently consoled her the best I could.

We sat in that corner for no more than thirty seconds before we heard gunshots from right outside the classroom. Kids screamed all around me as my ears were filled with a familiar ringing sound. Two more shots went off. I pushed the memories back long enough to look over at Mr. Ortega. The color had drained from his face, but there was something else there. He was calm. All around him was a sea of screaming teenagers, scared for their lives, and here he was, calm and collected. Of course, he is. He spent three tours in Iraq.

I looked him in the eye, and he told me silently that we need to get out of there. My own emotions had already been put into check. I’d been in shooting situations before so I knew how badly they could end if we didn’t act quickly. I slowly peeled myself away from Mary and as I did so she looked up at me through her glasses that finally fit her face. The fear rising, unlike anything I had ever seen. Seventeen years old, and she had been reduced to that same little girl standing at the back of the line on the playground, looking at me like her world was about to end. I couldn’t help the way I used to be able to, so I look away and begin to lead the group in the darkness along the back wall, trying to make our way inconspicuously to the windows. I opened the window and ushered everyone out. As soon as their feet landed on the ground,, they sprinted off not worrying about the people behind them.

We are halfway through the line of teenagers, two of which stayed back to help people out the window when there was a loud bang on the door. A couple of girls let out a scream, which only seemed to encourage the gunman to engage with our classroom. I rushed them out the window urgently as the gunman tried to break down the door. He was banging and pulling and was unsuccessful. The only people left in the room at this point were Mary, Mr. Ortega, and me. Mary was on her way out the window when the gunman’s frustration took over, and he shot through the little glass window in the door. The bullet broke through the glass and somehow, by what seemed like an outside force, found its mark on Mary’s left shoulder. Time seemed to slow down. She fell backward, and I tried to catch her, but she narrowly missed hitting her head on the desk behind her. I slowly lowered her to the ground as the gunman moved on to the next classroom, satisfied with the damage he’d done in ours. I couldn’t even think clearly. My mind was muddled with the image laid out in front of me. There was blood everywhere as I pulled her onto my lap.

“Theo, we need to go NOW!” Mr. Ortega urged me. I looked up at him, tears welling in my eyes, threatening to fall as I tried to pull myself together as best I could with my best friend slowly dying on my lap. He seemed to understand, and as he nodded, we heard the police beginning to flood the school. We heard them barrel toward the gunman as he let out the final rounds of his gun in a final effort to do as much damage as possible. With the stick still in the door, the only way out is through the window. We are safe. For now. Mr. Ortega made his way out the window, knowing it was okay to give me and Mary the privacy we deserved.

I looked down at her, my tears falling onto her cheeks.

“Mary, it's gonna be ok--okay. We are gonna get through this together. Plea-- please, you have to fight,” my words were hectic as they barreled out of my mouth at a million miles a second. Suddenly the memories overcame me.

Twelve-year-old me sitting in a pool of my mother's blood, holding her lifeless body, willing her to come back to me. Come back to life. She’s not done raising me. I still remember my father snapping and taking the gun out of the safe. I still remember my mom holding up her hands, trying to calm him down from his manic state. I remember thinking I could do something, but I was too late. I watched as the bullet made contact with her forehead. I remember my father running away. I remember the police rushing in and discovering me, a pile of snot and tears, hysterically crying, holding my mother's lifeless body. I remember Mary rushing in and holding me. Trying to soothe me as the police ripped me from my mother and sat me in a police car until the Department of Child and Family Services showed up. I was placed in the care of my mother's sister, but she spent most of her nights out with different men, so I spent mine with Mary as she helped me piece back together my fractured heart. Her bright and kind light reminded me of the life I had lost that day. Here I was again. Holding the dying body of someone I loved.

“Theo, it’s okay,” she whispered. Her breaths were uneven and labored as she tried to get out her last words to me. “Leave. You need to be safe.”

“No no no no no,” I pleaded, “They got him. You are gonna be fine-- it’s gonna be alright. I’m never gonna let you go. I’m gonna take you out of this classroom because who wants to spend this moment in a classroom-- though I guess-- I mean, I guess you might because you love school-- but I don’t know why-- b-but we are gonna get you to help okay? Yeah-- and you are gonna be alright because I need you to be alright-- you hear me I need you.”

“Theo, it’s gonna be okay.” She reached up with her shaking hand and touched my cheek. I leaned into her touch as the tears came waterfalling out. This can’t be it. This can’t be the last touch.

Something in her cracked at that moment and she became hysterical. “Please Theo,” she begged as the tears began streaming down her face. “Please, I don’t wanna die. It’s not my time-- please.” The scratch in her voice shattered everything inside me. The heart that we meticulously put back together after my mother's death had been shattered to a catastrophic level, never to be made whole again.

“Please Theo,” and with one last plea, the bright lights in her eyes went out. That was it. I was convinced I was dead as I sat there holding the lifeless body of my best friend. Everything she ever dreamed about, all the promises she made, and the secrets she kept were gone. All encased in the bullet still lodged in her heart. The beautiful untouched soul that was Mary Elizabeth Kent was gone. The horrible outside world finally got to her and I wasn’t able to protect her from it. Just like my mother.

It wasn’t until Mr. Ortega came back inside that I snapped out of my haze.

“Theo we need to get out of here. Come on son,” he said gently. He walked over to me and began to try and help with Mary’s lifeless body.

“No,” I said as I stopped him from helping me. “I need this.”

With that I stood, cradling Mary’s body in my arms as I made my way out the window. As my feet landed on the ground, it all became too real. I was holding the body of the only person who made me feel whole in this world and I would have to continue on with life as if a part of my heart hadn’t died right beside her in that classroom.