2:37 Last Thursday

At 2:29 last Thursday, Annie Colson resolved to pursue a career in biochemistry. She had always loved nearly every subject in school, and it had been the challenge of her life to decide which path to take when she started college next fall— pursuing her passion of orchestral composition would be life-giving but risky, whereas a path of financial advising would slowly drain the life out of her, but provide a stable career for decades to come. She honestly hadn’t even considered the science path until she started this class with Mrs. DeLuca, and her world had never been the same. Mrs. DeLuca explained cells and enzymology and nucleic acids in a way that made Annie feel giddy to learn more. She had always excelled in every class, but this one in particular made her actually want to study just for the sake of learning more. She should tell Mrs. DeLuca at some point— she didn’t want to seem like she was just sucking up to her to get a better grade; Annie really did want to gush over how this class and the teaching style in particular sparked a new passion for her. Maybe she would write her a note after finals, so it would be clear there were no ulterior motives at play. Annie smiled slightly and looked back down at her meticulously organized notes. She couldn’t wait for college next year. 

At 2:30 last Thursday, Gianna DeLuca fought hard to stay focused and engaged with her class. This year’s biochem seniors were an amazing group, but her mind was clouded with the argument she and her husband had last night (for the third time this week). It didn’t seem possible that they would ever be able to reach an agreement, and Gianna genuinely worried this might be the end of their six-year marriage. She clenched her jaw as she felt her nose sting— she would not cry about her personal problems in front of thirty high schoolers who just needed her to do her job. She owed it to them to be professional and to share this information as engagingly as she could. But her heart physically ached as she thought about how much she loved her husband and how broken she would be if they didn’t stay together. As professionalism won out its raging battle with emotions in her mind, Gianna’s worst-performing student Michael signaled for the hall pass. She knew he was going through a lot in his personal life too and, as usual, waved her permission without a second thought. Sometimes you just need a breather, and she was more than happy to grant him a break. 

At 2:31 last Thursday, Michael Herrera grabbed a hall pass and snuck quietly out the back of his biochemistry class. He felt guilty for always leaving; his teacher was actually really interesting and kind. She even paid for his spot on the senior trip last semester when she found out he wouldn’t be going otherwise. But this period was the only time of day Michael could see his little sister, and no class was worth giving that up. Hall pass in hand, Michael walked as quickly as he could without looking suspicious and turned the corner into the library. Alba had a study hall this period, and always spent it at their table in the back corner; it was the only neutral location they really had to see each other. He slid into his seat and his sister looked up with surprise, then smiled. They exchanged their usual rapid-fire updates: Michael’s new foster family was better than the last one. The dad didn’t hit him and the bio kids were all pretty little, so there was minimal risk of getting into fights. Alba’s foster family hadn’t changed much since the last time they spoke; it was too boring to talk about. She had started this new TV show— had he seen it? Michael smiled and felt his anxiety ease as he chatted with his sister. His watch beeped, and it was time to head back to class. He gave her a longer-than-usual hug, then jogged off. 

At 2:32 last Thursday, Alba Herrera fidgeted as her older brother went back to his class. As separated siblings, it was hard for them to see each other very much, and the updates they gave each other had to be efficient and positive. If you only had a minute together, you couldn’t bum each other out by talking about how a foster family was abusing you or you were petrified with fear of what would become of you when you turned eighteen. And this philosophy, which Alba had so faithfully stuck by since they were separated three years ago, is why she didn’t tell Michael that the Smiths wanted to adopt her. It should have been happy news, and Michael would certainly jump to be the first to congratulate her. The kicker was that the Smiths wanted to move across the country— Alba would gain a pair of loving parents for the first time in her life, and simultaneously lose her brother, the only relative she truly had. It was an impossible thing to bring up, and a heartache no matter the outcome. Alba put her head on the table and tried not to think about how Michael would react when she finally did tell him. She loved her brother so much… how could she break his heart?

At 2:33 last Thursday, Chris Jenkins paced in the library aisle and tried to find the words he wanted to use. His girlfriend Alba had been completely ignoring him for the last two weeks, even though everything had been going great. They had been having a lot of fun, and she’d even come over to meet his parents and sisters last week; he didn’t understand why she was cutting him out all of a sudden. After three more laps up the E-H nonfiction row, Chris decided not to approach her at all. He had looked around the corner and saw that she had her head down; she probably wasn’t in the mood to hash out relationship issues. Chris made his way quietly out of the library and began to wander aimlessly through the halls, then past the teacher’s lounge. He overheard one of the teachers yapping about her weekend plans in the Poconos, and as tempted as he was to roll his eyes, the thought of one of his lame teachers going on a romantic getaway this weekend while he was heartbroken made him pause. Maybe he should go back in and talk to her… 

At 2:34 last Thursday, Fatima Mehra listened with slight jealousy as one of her coworkers told the room about an upcoming weekend trip to the Poconos. Fatima wished so badly that she and her boyfriend could afford to go do something exotic and fun like that. Alas, they had both chosen the noble path of service careers, and such choices were incompatible with luxury travel. But what they had was beautiful, and Fatima reminded herself that love was so much more important than money or fancy getaways. She pulled out her phone and smiled at the sight of four notifications from her boyfriend Ted— he always sent her countless mundane updates throughout the work day, and she lived for every one. Today’s report featured his awkward conversation in the elevator with a coworker, two updates on the office fridge drama, and a picture of a cute dog he had spotted out the window. The dog picture was captioned: “Do we need a fur baby??” Fatima’s heart fluttered as her thumbs hovered over the keyboard. She didn’t know exactly what had her in such a bold mood, but something pushed her to say what she had been too hesitant to for weeks: “Actually, I think we should make a real baby.” A pause—and then the message: “You, me, the bed: the minute I get home from work. You better not be dressed” popped up. Fatima shoved her phone in her purse and excused herself quietly from the teacher’s lounge. Some messages just can’t be responded to in the company of others. 

At 2:35 last Thursday, Ted Dunst stirred his third cup of coffee of the day in the break room. It had been a slow day, but that wasn’t anything to complain about when you worked as a 911 dispatcher. He smiled as he saw the three dots flashing in his response to his (pretty suave, in his estimation) message about making a baby. He had wanted to bring it up for so long, but didn’t want to pressure Fatima if she wasn’t ready. He loved her so much. She put up with all his quirks and flaws, and they just fit together so well, like they were designed to function as a unit. He didn’t deserve her at all… and that made him love her even more. As had been his obsession over the past few weeks, he swiped over to a different tab to scroll through rings on his phone. He didn’t have a single doubt that he wanted to marry Fatima; he had innumerable doubts that any ring would be good enough for her. A notification popped up, and while grinning at her cheeky reply, Ted noticed his call button flashing and jogged over to the cubicle to answer. The cup of coffee he had been stirring sat abandoned on the counter, and it wouldn’t be touched again until a disgruntled janitor decided to finally dump it out two weeks later. 

At 2:36 last Thursday, Ted Dunst picked up a call. 

“911, what’s your emergency?” 

“Oh my God— I don’t know… he just ran out! I tried to stop him but

he’s so much bigger than me… oh fuck, this is bad. This is really

bad.”

“Try and stay calm for me, ma’am. What is the emergency?”

“My son, he ran out the house. He was really mad this time… really 

mad. Oh, fuck, he’s really lost it this time.” 

“Are you worried for your son’s safety?”

“No, I’m worried for the people he’s gonna kill. Oh, shit… he’s going

to do it and he’s going to be locked up. My baby, my little boy— he’s

crazy…”

“Try and stay with me, ma’am— did your son say he was going to

kill someone?”

“Oh, fuck… oh no…”

“Ma’am, I need you to answer me so we can keep everyone safe.

Please, tell me if your son said he was going to hurt anyone.”

“It’s not my fault! He’s crazy… I don’t know where we went wrong.

He’s suspended right now, that’s why he’s even home to begin with.

Oh my God… he’s going to go to prison, isn’t he?”

“Ma’am, tell me where your son is.” 

“I don’t know… he just ran out. He said he was going to ‘fuck them

all up’ and ‘teach them a lesson’.”

“Was your son armed, ma’am? Did he take any weapons with him

when he ran out?”

“He took my husband’s shotgun… it’s supposed to be locked up, but

you know how it is. Oh, fuck…”

“Ma’am, stay with me. Where was he going? Did he say?”

“Oh… oh no. My baby boy… He has so much anger. He hates that

school and he hates me and he hates everyone else too. ”

“What school was he suspended from, ma’am?”

“He goes to Easton, up over the river. I’ve lost my little boy, haven’t

I? Oh my God.. Sir? Are you still there?”

“We’re sending officers to the school now. How long ago did he

leave?”

“Twenty minutes, I’d guess. He’ll be there by now… oh, the poor

people he’s gonna kill. Oh, my baby— he’s going away for a long

time. I’m gonna hang this up now— oh, shit. I shouldn’t have called

in on my own baby but, oh no…”

“Ma’am, please stay on the line. We need you to—” 

At the same moment his caller hung up on him, Ted’s cell phone lit up: “I love you, baby. Someone’s shooting, we don’t know where he is. I love you so much.”

Ted grabbed the can from under his desk and vomited. Even though Easton was miles away, Ted would swear to his grave that he could hear the first shot. And so it was, with nine more bullets which couldn’t be stopped in time, that Ted’s world ended— along with countless others— at 2:37 last Thursday.