There was a girl a grade above me who rode my bus. She was a good student, well liked, kind. I didn’t have many friends as a kid – and I was frequently the outcast. I was bullied because I had no one who cared either way for me. But she was always friendly, nice. The kind of person people like being around. And she never picked on me.
When I was in 8th grade, and she was in 9th, she was murdered. Her stepfather committed a murder-suicide — 5 people died that day. I heard later, from another student, that A. had confided in her a week before it happened. That her stepfather had gone off his medication, that he had depression.
I heard also the gun was legally registered.
That A. was the one to place the 911 call.
That someone was alive when 911 got there but ultimately no one survived.
I can still see her bus stop.
I remember at school there was a meeting after her passing and a few students weren’t paying attention and one’s response was, “well I didn’t know her”.
And how she seemed to have a few more, a few closer, friends after her passing.
I stood outside the church for her service with my mother for her funeral – so many had come you couldn’t get inside. But I was there that day.
She is the reason I believe in stronger gun control.
And why I started taking the train instead of the school bus in high school.
Laughs and Lobotomies 