There is a real danger with guns on campuses

The day seemed to start like any other; crawling out of bed to turn off the alarm, I began making a steaming pot of tea to help clear the morning fog, and then eventually gathering my things to start the second day of finals week at Reynolds High School. It was June 10, 2014.

I gathered with my classmates in the health hallway to wait for our teacher to unlock the doors to our classrooms, when a woman’s voice echoed over the school intercom. It was shaky, and too fast for my early morning mind to make out what she said. It wasn’t until a large-built Junior ROTC military instructor began to scream at the students that the confusion really started to settle in. Pulling anyone close by into his classroom, he started shouting at each student to get low and hide. I ran into his room, fearing his voice more than anything I could imagine that was happening at that point. As the lights became dim, the JROTC instructors began to barricade the doors with shelving units, chairs, and anything else they could find that wasn’t latched down. Each instructor within the room (around three altogether) armed themselves with 2x4s and BB guns they kept for practice shooting.

It wasn’t until the moment the room became almost pitch black that the unnerving fear began to overtake my confusion. Students began to mumble, starting to panic themselves. With a single loud roar the officer screamed at the students to stay quiet, a school shooting was in progress. I myself didn’t believe it at first, but a faint echo of a gunshot in the distance silenced that thought. Students began to cry, others would curl away and hide as much as possible. Me, I couldn’t do anything but rock back and forth, crying, telling myself it’s just a drill, nothing is going to happen to us.

As hours began to pass by I began to believe myself. I hadn’t heard a single crackle of ignited gun powder. We started to calm down, and some began to fall asleep. But the loud banging against the door made everyone abandon their things, and run to the corner of the room behind a filing case as far away from the door as possible.

“Police! Open the door!”

One of the instructors moved the bookshelf slightly to see if it really was them. I never was so happy in my life to see that it was. The police came bursting through the doors, guns and rifles pointing straight at us… I no longer was so happy… They made each student walk out, hands raised high, one by one. You could feel the heat from their gaze as they watched your every move, making sure you weren’t another shooter.

As we made our way across the street to the church, my whole body was pat down thoroughly several times. My room was one of the first to be evacuated, so I sat in anticipation waiting for my friends. My vision was constantly blurry from the tears. I felt terror as my mind raced, wondering if the people I loved most in my life were dead. As soon as they appeared in the church parking lot, I embraced them ever so tightly and did not let go until we were evacuated onto buses taking us to the Fred Myer parking lot to meet our families.

That single moment in my life still affects me to this day. Periodically I still receive nightmares, and I’ve done what I can to work through them. I even find it difficult to write this article without pushing back the tears that once tried to soothed me in that traumatizing time.

That shooter not only took a life that day, he killed the innocence and sense of trust of every single one of us. If only someone would have said something – the shooter’s friends, family, or even a teacher noticing his behavior. If only someone spoke those simple words, “I am concerned about you,” to him. Emilio would still be alive today, his mother would still have her baby, and the shooter would’ve gotten the help he clearly needed.

It is simple enough that if you see something wrong, say something. You could be saving your own life. I just want to remind the students that MHCC will hold a lockdown drill on Feb. 15. Please, pay attention and take this seriously. If I ignored the woman’s voice and the instructor’s demanding shouts, there is a very good chance I wouldn’t be alive to write my experience in the Reynolds school shooting.