I Walked Out.

   

  I knew about the walkout for a long time. That's to say almost a month in advance. I learned about the test I had at the same time much later.
     Since the shooting at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida, the national conversation around gun violence and school shootings has changed. My own school had the principal come on the morning announcements to talk about what to do in the event of an active shooter (we're allowed to leave campus if that happens. yay?). We're encouraged to keep the classroom doors locked at all times, and I have a plan in each of my seven classrooms of what I would do if I hear gunshots. I've convinced myself that it's not if, but when. I've imagined what they will say about me if I am killed, or what picture will be the one everyone comes to recognize.
       In seventh grade, there was a big presentation for the school about Rachel Joy Scott, who was killed in the Columbine shooting. Everyone knew what Columbine was, what'd happened, and the school's name was greeted with a heart drop from everyone around. It was synonymous with tragedy. I just never imagined Sandy Hook, Las Vegas, Orlando, Virginia Tech, Sutherland Springs, Parkland, and more would be attached to the same meaning. Every person in high school now was born after Columbine happened. We've never known a world where this hasn't been haunting us. We've done lockdown drills alongside fire and tornado drills for as long as I can remember.
       The Parkland massacre seemed to be the last straw. It was so similar to our school. I could see myself and people that I knew in the victims, and this would be it.
       This morning, I was still unsure of whether I would be able to walk out. I had a timed test during the period of the walkout, and I assumed it was impossible. I'd spent the morning scrolling through Twitter, as one does, and found myself disgusted by the people claiming the walkout was stupid, that we're using it as an excuse to get out of class, that we're being used as pawns. It was then that I decided that I was going to stand my ground.  I could make up the test if need be. A little extra stress, but for a good cause.
        My teacher thankfully delayed the test until 10:20 (the walkout was supposed to begin at 10 and last 17 minutes). So, at 10 am, with around eight other members of my thirty person class, I left the classroom, and then the building.
        It was really cold. There were a few administrators out there, but standing to the side. Students stood at the front with posters, guiding the crowd with an old microphone that made it hard to discern what was being said. Others walked around handing out orange ribbons and information on how to register to vote if you're old enough and, if not, how to contact your representatives. Kids from ages 12-18 stood together. Some kids had come from P.E., and stood outside in the cold, shivering in only shorts and t-shirts.
        The students leaders began reading the names of the Parkland victims, along with small anecdotes about who they were and how they died. The crowd hung their heads. Then, the leaders took turns speaking. Thanking us for coming out but reiterating that none of us want to be in this position. Stressing the importance of voting if you are old enough. Reminding us that this is only the beginning. Someone said that the biggest fear is hearing that there was a shooting at his sister's school and she was killed.

       There might have been a time when a kid's biggest fear walking into school was the grade on their science test; or if their outfit was weird; or if they would see their crush, or their bully, that day. But my generation has never known that time. Maybe not always the most prevalent fear, but always in the back of our heads, is the fear of getting shot at school.