I was 15 when I stopped being a teenage girl. Before then I did what we all would do. I would hang out with my friends and watch cute boys but never talk to them, but at that moment I was on a mission. I had to find the perfect dress for my sister’s graduation party. Looking back at it now it seems kind of stupid how that was my biggest worry. After hours of too long, too short, too grown, and too childish, I found it. I found the dress. I looked in the mirror and for once in my life I felt beautiful like I was one of the girls in the movies who voiced their opinions and smoking hot but in a subtle way. It is funny to think that was the last time I ever felt like a teenager ever again.

Walking out of the store, the wind felt cold and harsh for a random day in April. Now I realize it was a sign, but at that moment I was too wrapped up in myself to even notice. After more mindless walking alongside my mother, at around 3:30 AM, there was a noise. It was cold and harsh and continuous. Another noise also came with it. The noise of screams, cries, and begging. In a situation like this your only option is to run and hide and think. There is a lot of room to think when death is nearby. The first noise stopped, but the second stayed for years to come. It turns out a police officer was nearby to kill the shooter, but the damage was done. Hundreds of people were screaming and crying and screaming “Why?”. Why did this have to happen? Why did they have to die? 

There were eight people silent. Eight people made no noise as they laid on the ground. They were children and mothers and fathers, but they could have done something with their lives, but I guess we’ll never know.

It never stopped for me though. I kept hearing the same words over and over again, “Thank God you were lucky”. That phrase never made sense to me. If God saved me from death, why didn’t he save the others? What did I do in life to deserve it anymore than them? That’s because I didn’t. Did they expect me to say “Thank God they died instead of me”? It wasn’t fair. Also, was I really lucky if I just witnessed a mass shooting? Was I really lucky if I was going to be reminded of everything for the rest of my life? If I was really lucky, I wouldn’t have been there and it would have never happened and all the lost lives would be there for dinner that night instead of getting wrapped up.

After that I sort of shut down. On the outside, I was still the 15 year old girl who watched boys but never talked about them and hung out with her friends, but when I was alone, especially at night, I would think. I imagine what it would be like they were still here or if I went down with them. On those nights I could still see the outline of the dress in my closet. I never ended up wearing it. I don’t think I ever will.