Untied Shoelaces

“Lockdown. Locks, lights, out of sight.” 

That was the third one. By then, the class had stopped celebrating the interruption to class and was settling into our usual spot by the door. We had these drills every month, but my heart still picked up a bit every time. What if this time, it’s real? But of course it never was. Why would it be? We were a random school in a random town in a random state. I mean, what the fuck ever happens in North Dakota. But still, this was America, the land of the free and the home of lunatics who go on mass shootings sprees. So the drills went on.

I prepared myself to sit uncomfortably on the floor for the next few minutes, squished in between kids who seemed to not know what deodorant was. Jesus Christ, do these people not even know what a shower is? It was going to be a long few minutes. 

I started staring around the room, as usual. One of the horrendously ugly overhead lights was flickering, just as it had been for months, even though the principal promised our teacher it would be fixed within a week. One of the blinds on the windows across the room had broken, the edge dangling like a limp limb. One of the shoelaces on my shoes had come loose. Whatever, I’ll get it when this is over.

Mikey was the first to break the silence that has hung over the class for the past 30 seconds, suspiciously long for a room crammed with a bunch of high school freshmen. With only 4 little words, the floodgates opened. 

“This is so boring.”

“Who cares? We don’t have to do work, dude.”

“Please say this goes on until next period. I don’t want to take that stupid calc test.” 

“Ugh, I was so ready for it though.”

“Guys, shut up. What if it’s real?”

“As if.”

“Fuck off, Levi.”

“This school makes me want to kill myself anyway, might have someone else do it.”

“Do you think we’ll get a day off if one of us gets shot?”

“I nominate Harley. She’s such a bitch.”

The hushed voices silenced once again as we heard footsteps in the hallway. Every month, during every drill, the office secretary Ms. Richards had to come around to every room, testing every doorknobs to ensure it was locked properly. She could always be heard before she was seen, her heels click-clacking against the linoleum hallways.

The footsteps we heard did not belong to Ms. Richards. They were heavy, commanding, like the march of a sergeant. They belonged to someone larger, stronger, more powerful. A man, probably. Wearing combat boots, probaby. Bullied in high school. probably. That’s what the statistics said anyway.

The man continued down the hallway, each step seeming to shake the very foundation of the building. I held my breath as the steps passed by our door, continuing down the hallway. We’re safe. Breathe.

“Who the f-” Mikey started, before someone slapped a hand over his mouth. Shit.

The footsteps stopped, just for a moment. 

Until.

Closer and closer. Then, once more, they stopped.

My breathing quickened.

The doorknob rattled.

It did not stop.

I felt the air grow thick, the absence of breaths suffocating me. I dared not look around, in fear of making any sound.

Someone yelpped. “Shut up, Jenna, or he’s gonna fucking hear you,” Harley snapped, her harsh, whisper full of reprimand. But, it didn’t match the tears I saw forming in her eyes. Moments later, her voice quieted as she wrapped her arm around Jenna’s shoulder. “We’re gonna be okay. I promise.”

No. We’re not.

The rattling of the doorknob stopped as something louder took it place. The sound of a fist-no, something heavier-banging against the door. Pounding, demanding to be let in. Blow after blow after blow.

The room jumbled together into one blurry mess. I felt something slide down my face, until it reached the uper corner of my lip, where I licked it away. I could not move my hand to wipe the salty tears from my face. I could not breathe.

Blow after blow after blow, the world in front of me disappeared. I thought it was fake, a cliche, that whole “life flashing before your eyes right before you die” thing. Can confirm, absolute bullshit. And still, I found myself thinking about this morning. When I walked out the house, slamming the front door, because my mother had soaid something I can’t even remember know that had pissed me off.

Oh my god. Mom.

I didn’t care how much noise I made. I fumbled for an eternity to get my stupid phone out of my stupid pocket. I mistyped my passwords 3 different rhymes, the numbers blending together through the watery film over my eyes. Get your shit together. I made my way the the favorites section of my phone app, and hit call.

I didn’t wait for a voice on the other end of the line. I doubted I would be able to hear it over the sound of my heart pounding. “Mom, I-”

“Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice messaging system. The person you are trying to reach-” I hung up the phone. Please. Not now.

I dialed the number again. “Your call has been forwarded to-” Fuck.

Again. “You call has been forward-” PICK UP THE FUCKING PHONE.

Again. “Your call has b-” No.

Again. “Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice messaging system. The person you are trying to reach is not available.” Why is this goddam message so long? “At the tone, please record your message. When you have finished recording, you may hang up, or press 1 for more options.” I let it play all the way through this time.

“Mom?” I could hear it in my voice: the slight cracks, the shake, the fear. “Mom, please call me back. I think something’s happening, I don’t know. I’m really scared, Mom.” The door let our one last croak before giving in. I didn’t dare look up from the floor. Once again, I saw my shoes, scuffed and browned from years of wear. I was going to die with untied shoelaces.“Mom, please pick up. I’m sorry for everything bad I’ve ever said to you. I promise I didn’t mean any of it. I swear. Mom, if anything happens, I love-”