Chapter 16
Emmett
T
he past two days have been extremely uneventful for me. With Lenny’s being closed, along with most other establishments, I’ve had to make myself busy inside the walls of my apartment. I’ve caught up on a couple shows I wanted to watch, played some video games, cooked a few meals, and tidied up my apartment. I did some loads of laundry that have been piling up, called my parents, and got ahead on some of my paperwork for the bar.
Overall, I’ve been productive, and I’m feeling accomplished, but I still have this nagging feeling that there’s more I could be doing.
Drew has also been home the past two days, and I know because I could hear her make her way around her apartment, dropping a few things along the way and playing music at almost all waking hours. For once, I didn’t mind the noise she made. It gave me a sense of relief and normalcy.
Except for yesterday afternoon.
I was laying on the couch while watching TV when I heard screaming. But it wasn’t the kind of shriek you hear when someone trips or stubs their toe, I’ve heard plenty of those come from upstairs.
It was the kind of screaming that makes you freeze.
The kind of screaming that says the person is scared.
Scared of what they’re seeing.
Scared for their life.
I paused the TV when I heard it, at first not sure if it was coming from the speakers or somewhere else. It took me a moment to register that the noise was stemming from my ceiling, the source being right above me. I didn’t know what to do, didn’t know why it was happening, didn’t know if Drew was okay. The scream was followed by silence, and I told myself it was nothing to worry about but still felt a little unsettled.
I un-paused the show I was watching, brushing it off, but then, about 20 minutes later, I heard it again. This time, I heard creaking and scratching as if the legs of her couch were moving back and forth. That’s when I realized that she must be asleep, trapped in a dream, screaming for her life, tossing and turning trying to escape it. It’s a feeling I know all too well.
The first few nights after Lennon died, I’d wake up in cold sweats with my heart pumping out of my chest. I had the same nightmare every night for I don’t know how long. I was running down a dark street, chasing headlights that were getting further and further away. I would wake up screaming Lennon’s name, aching to reach her. My parents had to put a rug under my bed because I would move so much in my sleep, the legs of my bed started making these large indents in the hardwood floor.
My therapist explained to me that nightmares after a trauma are an intense expression of the body working through the traumatic experiences it’s been through. They can also represent a breakdown of the body’s own ability to process what has happened to it.
School shootings are becoming such a staple in the daily news, and it’s incomprehensible how nothing is being done about it. I saw an insane statistic of almost 650 mass shootings happening within a year with 51 of those being schools.
And here we are again, adding another to that already unsettling number.
The day the shooting at Drew’s middle school happened, there was coverage, but it’s like the news stations move onto the next hot topic once the commotion of it all is over.
It’s incredibly heartbreaking and completely unfair.
These teachers shouldn’t have to make the choices they are put in the position to make. I’m surprised more don’t leave the profession because of these types of risks, but I also can’t imagine teachers being selfish in any way for what they’ve signed up to deal with on a daily basis.
I have so much respect for teachers, my grandma had been a music teacher for her entire working life, and I think it’s crazy that teachers always get the short end of the stick. Not to mention the possibility of a fucking asshole being able to not only buy an unnecessary gun but also then walk right into a school with hundreds of innocent kids.
I read that the kid was only 18, but that didn’t stop him from having a 21-year old friend buy it for him.
I should have used the stories of the classroom I heard from my grandma to make a connection with Drew, but I was always too selfish or pissed to have a polite conversation with her.
She was probably already stressed from the job, and now, with all of this, she has to decide if she’s going to go back. I honestly don’t know how someone could after this. I know I wouldn’t be able to.
It’s so soon after the shooting, the wounds from that day still being so fresh, I wonder if she’s thought about it. That day will be etched into her bones, becoming a part of who she is, but I hope she doesn’t let it take over. Drew doesn’t strike me as someone who has gotten through life without having to work for it; she seems strong.
But I still can’t help but worry.
When I heard Drew screaming, I had not felt that helpless in a while. I felt like there was something I should have done.
I didn’t know what though, still don’t.
Don’t know what she needs, how to help her, if she even wants help.
I ran into the same internal struggle when I wanted to rush up to her place the day of the shooting. Wanting to see if she was okay but feeling like it wasn’t my place.
My heart hurts at the thought of her going through something like this alone. I can’t imagine how scared she must have been in her classroom or how she must be feeling now.
Until I could confirm Drew was awake, I kept the TV paused and just kept listening, hearing her screams a few times each hour she was asleep. My fist clenched at every one, and I would wince from the pain I heard in every outcry.
After a few hours, I’m not even sure how many it was, I heard footsteps and music playing again, telling me that she was awake.
I felt like I could breathe again.
I’m not sure if she went to sleep that night or not, but I didn’t hear the screams again. If I would have, I don’t know if I would have been able to stop myself from running up the steps separating my floor from hers.