Hide & Seek

Darkness scares us. We can breathe in the light, when we are able to recognize what is concrete and familiar, what is real. The light protects us from the unknown. But here I am, in the middle of the daylight, with the sun shining brighter than it has all year, and yet there is no light here. I am surrounded by darkness. What am I going to do? For 6 hours a day I am responsible 

for their safety and their well-being, and in this moment, I feel completely powerless. I am frozen with fear.

I look around the room at the multiple colorful finger paintings taped to the walls. That was a happy day. My carefully prepared lesson plans sitting on my desk, plans that I spent hours creating, all seem so insignificant now. Building blocks are scattered all over the carpeted floor at our Lego station. Crayons have spilled from their boxes, casualties of the battle between two 7 year-old girls, over the use of the colors pink and purple. I don’t even have the strength to tell them to stop. My eyes wander around the whole room and I am so saddened, but I suppress my urge to cry. How could a place full of vibrant decorations, full of laughter, full of learning, be a part of such misery? What am I going to do?

He is somewhere in the school.

A text message from a co-worker informs me of the situation and I am instantly 

paralyzed. I do not want to scare my students so I let them continue their centre time as if nothing is going on around them. As if they aren’t in grave danger. I envy their ignorance. I need these precious moments to plan my next move, every second counts. I need these distractions to recollect myself and step into action. When I accepted this job many years ago, I made a promise to myself that I would do whatever I could to keep my students safe. This was my time, my chance to keep that promise.

Adrenalin takes over my crippling fear and I begin to implement the first idea that comes to my mind.

“Boys and girls! Gather around in a circle!” I say this three times in my disguised teacher voice before everyone is assembled around me. 

“Now listen carefully boys and girls. We’re going to play a very serious game and no 

rules can be broken. Do you think you’re up for the challenge?” A loud unified response lets me know that they’re willing to play my game. 

“I need all of you to be very quiet, no matter what happens. This is a very special hide and seek game. The only time you can make noise is if me, or another teacher lets you know to come out of the cabinets. I will take you in pairs and fit as many of you as I can into the cabinets but you have to stay quiet. Can you do that for me?” Another unified response, quieter this time. They are beginning to sense that something is wrong. I thank God for my big cabinets.

I begin to cram my students into the wooden compartments. I remove whatever materials are inside and discreetly place them in areas where they look like they might belong. I cannot afford his suspicion. Even though they are 7, they are being very compliant as I do this. I am almost done; I have almost hidden them all. There are two students left. A shot is fired and screams are heard throughout the school. Another shot. Then another. My children begin to 

panic. I quickly shove the two students left into the last compartment and remind them all not to make a single sound. Slowly, the noise turns into deathly silence. I guess even 7 year-olds have the instinct of survival. 

It is just me and my thoughts now. Beads of sweat have consumed my body. With each 

step I take, my heart begins to beat faster and my knees almost buckle. I run to the door, lock it and turn off the lights. I try and move swiftly towards the corner farthest from the door, but it feels like my feet are glued to the carpet. I crouch behind my desk and wrap my arms around my knees. My body is cold with shivers and my head is spinning. The intensity of the situation causes me to smile to myself to try and convince my mind that this is a dream, but the two shots fired after my momentary delusion let me know that I am stuck in a hellish reality. The shots 

appear closer now. All that is left is the waiting game. 

I rock back and forth and time seems to stand still. After what seems like an eternity I hear the panting of his breath and heavy footsteps are at the door. He is a big man. I can’t believe I forgot to call my family and say goodbye. It is too late now. I hope they know that I love them. 

After several attempts he kicks open the door. I place my hand over my mouth as streams flow silently from my eyes. Where’s a hero when you need one?

“Get up,” he says to me. “Where are they?” I observe his face. Tired, aged skin. Black 

greasy hair. Piercing blue eyes with no soul behind them. I was right. He is a big man. A big man with an ice-cold heart. 

“They’re in the gym. They just had gym class,” I tell the Grim Reaper. I decide to face the inevitable.

I don’t hear the words he is screaming at me. Please God keep them safe, please. I turn my head to glance at the beautiful day outside and the glow of the sunshine reminds me of what a wonderful life I’ve lived. I am comforted in knowing that he cannot take that from me. I look at 

him and I smile. I am suddenly calm and feel at peace.

A shot is fired.

If you stand in the classroom and listen closely, you will hear 15 little hearts, beating like hummingbird wings, safe and sound in the darkness.