by Eleanora Davis
Another lockdown drill. Usually, most students marched through the steps of the drill half asleep or chatting with a friend. We clambered under chairs and behind desks in the dimly lit rooms, eye rolls abundant. It was the same as any other drill: we were told it was a precautionary measure, and just like all the other drills, of course whatever threat it was preparing students for would never happen. We would laugh or yell “boo!” whenever the rattling sound of someone outside checking that our door was securely locked rang throughout the classroom.
Another shooting audio broadcast on the news. It was bone chilling as the screaming sound waves mixed with the BANG of gunshots penetrated the flesh of listeners and beat repeatedly on their hearts, occasionally lingering in the mind throughout days or weeks. What a wild thing to happen. “I hate school” took on a new meaning entirely, evolving into a feared phrase. Should the three words leave your mouth, you became suspected rather than relatable.
“New Report Highlights U.S. 2022 Gun-Related Deaths: Firearms Remain Leading Cause of Death for Children and Teens, and Disproportionately Affect People of Color.” Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health, 2024. (https://publichealth.jhu.edu/2024/guns-remain-leading-cause-of-death-for-children-and-teens)
It entered my mind that auto accidents had just been replaced in leading death status. I thought back to the rigorous tests and training I had to take to get my driver’s license and parking pass. What training do people go through to obtain a gun? From somewhere in my faded memory the voice of my driving instructor echoed, “Driving a car is like holding a loaded gun.” The simile took a new frightening grip in my mind, as I was becoming more likely to experience harm from both.
“Did you hear? A school not three hours away from us just got shot up this week.” I winced as the words left myfriend’s mouth, withdrawing inside myself to ponder what this meant for me and my freshman brother. Our safety and invincible mindsets were changing, but the safety measures themselves within schools remained the same. For the first time in my life, I was not only concerned with my appearance and who looked at me inside school, but what was inside the pockets of my peers' bags, who would be most likely to…
A guest speaker entered the school building. Was he really a guest? What was that bulge in his left pocket? I wish I could have the assurance that he had walked through a metal detector, had a background check, then maybe walked through the metal detector once more.
In class, a student adjacent to me reached within his pocket. I immediately wished he had gone through precautionary measures as well. He continued digging within the pocket.
“May I use the restroom, Mr. Scott?”
The teacher nodded. I scuttled away.
Another lockdown drill. We cautiously crept under chairs and desks, silent as death. We feared what the speaker within each classroom might announce. Just two years ago we were golden lion cubs, danger spiking curiosity and ridicule from within us. Now, we are like frightened deer with wide, imploring eyes, creeping in the shadows at the mention of danger. The anticipation of the piercing, abrupt cry of a gun grew within each student. And when the usual hand shook and rattled the door, someone screamed. Not a squeal, or a sarcastic yell.
A blood-curdling
Genuine
Bone-chilling
Shriek
From deep
Within
My panic-stricken
Being.
About Eleanora Davis
Eleanora Lane Davis is a junior at Spring Hill High School in Chapin, where Andrew Collins is her AP Language teacher. The daughter of Rebecca and Michael Davis, Eleanora plans to major in psychology and minor in biology in college. She would like to train guard and police force dogs or be a child psychiatrist.