Object of The Exercise

I drove to work early as usual to write the daily objectives on the chalkboard before my students were due to arrive. I taught eleventh graders World History, so my class wasn’t the most engaging experience, but I seldom got tired of hearing myself rant about Ancient Egypt and the Great Depression; history was sort of my thing.

Knowing more about the past brought me comfort in the present that the future could be somewhat predictable.

Whether or not anyone listened to my lectures wasn’t within my control. I had realized over the years that I could not force those teens to want an education.

The most that I could do was provide them all with a safe space to come around whenever they were ready.

Upon entering the building, I nonchalantly walked into the main office to check my mailbox. It was empty as normal. I just wanted an excuse to say good morning to Chrissa, Miss Diswell, that teaches Anatomy prior to heading into my classroom. She is usually in there conversing with her friend Aaliyah, the school secretary.

She is such an enthusiastic teacher that is passionate about her job, and her smile is a gift that keeps on giving. It was too bad that she already had a boyfriend…

I know that I’m not the sexiest guy that had ever had a crush on someone as beautiful as Chrissa, but at least I didn’t need to borrow her car everyday. I had to sit with her numerous of times after school while she waited for him to pick her up hours late from work.

I would’ve happily given her a ride home, but she was always too afraid that asshole wouldn’t approve of her being alone with another man; she deserved so much better than someone who made her fearful of him.

I took the elevator to the fourth floor, strolled down the hallway, and unlocked the door to my room. I placed my bag on my chair and began writing on the board.

Once I was finished, I sat at my desk and started grading the homework from last night that they were supposed to turn in online. Only five out of the fifteen students completed the assignment.

I’m no mathematician, but that’s less than half…

Shortly after, my students trickled in one by one, so I closed my laptop to greet them and went to the washroom before beginning the lesson plan.

When I returned, everyone including Mason, the class nuisance, had taken their proper seats. That was quite unusual, though I didn’t overthink it.

That’s when Dunkan, the student with the highest grade in the class, raised his hand and said simultaneously, “Mr. Hick, is that what I think it is over there on the floor by the globe?”

I had no idea what he was referring to, and I had no reason to believe it was anything urgent, so I didn’t rush to see.

When I saw what it was, I wanted to shout it aloud, but I didn’t want to frighten anyone or cause a panic, so I didn’t confirm or deny what I saw; I kept my cool, but I had questions and concerns.

At this point, all of them are suspects, and I had to move smartly to avoid alerting the potential shooter.

Why was there a bullet on the floor in my classroom? Did one of my students bring a gun to school today, and how did it drop from his or her backpack?

It surely wasn’t there before. Someone had to have brought it with them, but who was it? I was very confused and scared, but I had a responsibility to get to the bottom of it for everyone’s safety.

I decided in that split second to scratch the original exercise I had already planned for today, and I thought of another idea that would give me enough time to think about what to do next. Hopefully, my plan would help to reveal the guilty student that dropped the bullet.

I was now mentally prepared for anything. There was a possibility that a school shooter was sitting behind me, but the only thing I could do was what I did best. With great fear in my heart and an ache that shot through my entire body, I remained calm and accepted the situation for what it was and turned around.

The classroom never seemed more vacant with a room full of people in it. It was like I was already dead.

In a stoical tone, I began the improvised lecture, “Class, who assassinated Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s mother?”

All I could hear was Kelsey tapping her pencil against her desk and Keegan whispering to his best friend Gabriel, but not a single student put his or her hand in the air to respond. It didn’t really matter, because my question was rhetorical.

I resumed with the exercise, “I bet some of you didn’t even know Dr. King’s mother was killed in 1974, six years after her own son was murdered. Does anyone know the answer? No? That’s all right. I didn’t expect any of you to know, so I’ll just tell you. The killer went by the name Marcus Wayne Chenault Jr.” The room was so silent that it was almost as if I had pressed pause on the remote, but I had to keep on going.

There was no time to waste, so I said a short prayer in my head and continued with the interrogation method, “The utter disregard for human life that has been demonstrated throughout history is appalling. Ignore the objective that’s on the board. Today’s new topic is domestic terrorism. A problem that has plagued the American people for way too long.”

Symon, the student that rarely spoke, rolled his eyes and said in a sarcastic, quiet tone, “And?”

I didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but I thought his comment was very odd considering the circumstances. I also didn’t want to appear apprehensive, so I brushed it off and kept on lecturing, “April 20, 1999, does anyone know what happened on that day in Colorado?”

Mason got up from his chair and headed towards the tissue box to blow his nose. He had been out of school with the flu for a few days, and this was his first day back. That might have had something to do with why he wasn’t being the class clown; he was still sick.

Rachel answered my question without raising her hand, “That’s easy. It was the Columbine Massacre. I’m obsessed with true crime. I go to bed listening to those kind of stories all of the time.”

Daronte, Rachel’s ex boyfriend, replied in a joking manner, “And that’s why you’re still single, because you’re crazy.”

The whole room filled with laughter, while Rachel lowered her head into her desk in embarrassment.

I could tell she was angry at Daronte for still picking on her after he had already broken her heart to hook up with her now ex best friend, Teresa. She wasn’t in my class, but it still tore her up inside to lose her only friend and boyfriend all at once.

Anyway, time was of the essence, so I had no time to console my student. It was killing me inside to know what these kids could be facing and them having absolutely no clue that their lives may soon change forever.

They were oblivious, except for one of them. One of them was responsible, and that knowledge haunted me.

“Great job, Rachel. That’s correct,” I reassured.

My palms started to sweat. The room felt like it was getting smaller and smaller by the minute.

The kid that barely comes to school, Jargo, walked back into the classroom with his hood over his head, a smirk on his face, and an attitude. I saw him earlier right before I had left to use the washroom, but I hadn’t noticed he wasn’t in the classroom when I returned.

Where did he go?

He was now my prime suspect; his backpack looked unusually heavy, so I asked him a question to get a better sense of his temperature, “Jargo, welcome back. Class has already begun, and we’re having a discussion. What are your thoughts on domestic terrorism in the United States?”

He looked up with cold eyes and said back to me as he ponderously sat down in his chair, “Mr. Hick, this is my third time taking this class, and I don’t recall ever learning this. I don’t have an opinion on that topic whatsoever. People die everyday.”

Jargo removed the massive load from his back and dropped it onto the floor by his feet. I was convinced he was the student who brought the weapon to school, so I approached him and asked to confiscate his backpack. He adamantly refused to hand it over, which made me even more certain that I had the right student.

As I went to grab the bag from between his legs, Dunkan cocked his firearm and pointed it directly at Jargo’s chest and pulled the trigger.

The gun jammed, so I tackled him and pinned him to the floor. He struggled to reach for his other gun that was strapped to his ankle, but Jargo jumped in to help me disarm the active shooter.

With his face against the carpet, Dunkin murmured, “I would’ve killed every last one of you, and you never would’ve saw it coming.”

The rest of the students tripped over one another and fled the classroom to get assistance. Miss Diswell called the police, and Dunkin was taken into custody.

I felt terrible for accusing Jargo, so I apologized and thanked him for being so heroic. He was still in shock and passed out. The parents of the children were contacted, and everyone was dismissed from school early.

Traumatic isn’t even the word to describe what happened. I haven’t stepped foot inside of a classroom since that day. Attending these therapy sessions are the only thing I can bring myself to do right now. All I know for sure is that the gun laws need more restrictions, because my students and I were almost history…