A Lapse of Judgement

Twenty-eight years . . . twenty-eight fucking years, thought Tom. And for what? For some ditzy little gym teacher to tell me, I had a lapse of judgment. ME! Who the fuck she thinks she is? I knew I should have left this shit place the moment they hired that dumb-ass superintendent. 

Tom was seething. He couldn't understand the audacity of his Principal. She had merely started two years ago and had yet to earn her stripes. He had shirts that were older than this bimbo. Tom's hands balled into fists, the knuckles white against his flushed skin, as he walked furiously back to his classroom. Each step was a riled beat into the symphony of his anger. His mind was racing with a torrent of thoughts and comebacks he wished he'd voice. His jaw clenched tight as he imagined all the times he had gone above and beyond, all the late nights and missed weekends coaching, all dismissed with a wave of her hand. 

Maybe they are trying to get rid of me. That's it, that is the only explanation. Otherwise, none of this makes any goddamn sense. First, they tell me kids are complaining my grading is too harsh. I have kept my grading the same since the 90s! Then, it was a meeting because I cursed at a kid. So fucking what?! Everyone should be cursing at these useless vapid twats. Then, they tried to give me a fucking "developing" on my domain one in my observation because I didn't write the objective on the board during my lesson... AS IF ANY OF THE IDIOTS READ THE DAMN OBJECTIVE!! Oh, what a fucking joke this place is. ME? A developing!!! I wrote the goddamn curriculum for the entire department, and I am developing. Unfucking believable. 

Tom was losing his mind. His negative thoughts bounced back and forth, fueling the rage inside him like a volcano, raging uncontrollably and waiting to explode. He turned the corner sharply, colliding with a student who was startled, dropping his backpack and . . . an automatic rifle on the floor that fired three shots in the air, lodging in the wall across the hall. The two looked at each other for a moment that seemed suspended in time, unsure of what had just happened. Screams from students in classrooms who heard the shots made them both realize what was happening. Tom quickly grabbed the student with one hand and the automatic rifle with the other and pushed his classroom door open. A scream and gasps came from the corner. He threw the student on the floor and saw six students in there. 

"What the fuck are you doing in here?" He asked angrily. 

"You . . .you t t t told us to. . to . .to work on our .. uh.. project." 

Shit. He remembered. A second later, the school alarm went off, followed by an alert on the intercom. "Attention: there is an intruder on campus. Please follow the lock-out procedure. Attention: there is an intruder on campus. Please follow the lock-out procedure." 

Tom looked at all the students and told them to move to the corner of the class against the wall. They looked at him in confusion. No one dared to question him. He stood up and locked the classroom door. He picked up the rifle off the floor, engaged the safety switch, and went directly to the would-be shooter. 

"What's your name, kid?" 

"Vick," he answered while putting his head down. 

"Vick?" Tom questioned the name. 

"Vicktor Kroger" 

"What are you doing with a rifle, Vick? You don't seem like a kid who would do such a thing." 

Vick kept his head down and did not speak. He was disappointed in himself. He felt like a complete failure. 

Tom walked to his desk and sank into his chair, the leather creaking under his weight with the rifle still in his hand. He stared blankly at the students. Look at them. So weak, terrified, and fragile. It is all fun and games until death comes knocking, huh? TikTok and Google can't save you now. 

Crouched behind desks and huddled in the class corner, the students sat paralyzed with terror, their eyes wide with shock and disbelief. Some were crying softly, their trembling hands clasped over their mouths to stifle sobs, while others stared blankly ahead, their faces drained of color.

Tom looked down at the clutter on his desk—papers, books, memos, reports, a cup of unfinished coffee, and his computer. Everything was a testament to his hard work, yet in that moment, it felt meaningless. Tom knew that this incident would be the defining moment of his career. He had to make a decision quickly. His rage compelled him to start shooting everyone, including these feeble kids, all the way to his bosses. That would teach them to respect teachers. Enough is enough. How long can they keep disrespecting us? How long will they give us a shit salary? Ask us to teach kids who cannot read, have the attention span of a goldfish, are addicted to their phones, or have mental and psychological issues. How long will they not treat us as professionals and have kids, and their stupid parents tell us how we should be doing our jobs? How long will they treat schools like businesses, keep lowering the academic bar, and raise their salaries? 

Tom shook his head in disapproval. He looked at the wall next to him and saw his pictures of former students, thank you letters, and cards with words of encouragement. Killing these kids did not seem right to him. They are, after all, just kids, and it is not their fault that the adults fucked it up for them. Killing management would probably not change anything, either. They would label him as a maniac or a disgruntled employee and then continue their attacks on teachers. Tom's rage slowly gave way to a bitter resolve. He had weathered storms far worse than this cartoonish Principal's petty criticisms. She was sorely mistaken if she thought she could undermine him so easily. Tom stood up, and with the calmest voice, he told the kids not to be afraid. They are just going to wait for the Police. 

Tom put the rifle aside and walked toward Vick. 

"Listen, Vick, the way I see it, once those officers enter this classroom, your life as you know it will be over. I don't know you, and you don't know me, and I don't expect you to trust me, but I trust my intuition, and you are not a shooter. So, I will ask you again: what were you doing with a rifle?" 

Vick, head down, didn't respond. He did not know what to do since he had not planned for this. He knew this teacher was right but did not know what to tell him. Vick could not get over how stupid he was. The teacher standing over him was about to turn when Vick finally answered. 

"I... I don't know, honestly. I was angry. I was hurt. It is all just very stupid. I am stupid. I am so stupid." Vick began to sob slowly. 

Tom returned to his desk, brought some tissues, and handed them to Vick. Then, instead of hovering over him, he sat on the floor next to him. 

"You are not stupid, Vick. You are just young and inexperienced. You are full of hormones that make you act like a sports car without any damn brakes. Now tell me, what the hell happened?"

Vick looked at the students sitting in the class's corner and then at Tom, who shrugged. With trembling breaths, the boy began to speak, his voice tinged with sorrow and bitterness.

"Okay, whatever, . . . it kinda started earlier in the year. I had a girlfriend since last year. We are not popular. We are not into sports. We are just part of the group that disappears in the background. But that was too much for Matt fucking Crowley."

Tom knew Matt. He is one of the school darlings and part of the elite basketball team that won several conferences, regionals, and even the state championship last year. Tom even had the pleasure of teaching him for three days before he was quietly taken out of class. He was a complete dick. 

"In math class, we had this stupid competition, and my group, which included my girlfriend Lisa, beat his group. He could not take it. So he started with Lisa. At first, I thought it was funny. I figured Lisa would see right through his bullshit. But . . she started acting differently. I warned her. I told her he was using her, but she did not believe me, thinking he cared for her when all he wanted was to hurt us., so we broke up. Then, they started dating. It did not even last a month. But the worst part is that he exposed her. He sent her messages and her pics to everyone. It was the fucking worst. It made me want to throw up."

The room fell silent, the weight of Vick's words hanging heavily in the air. The students exchanged knowing glances, their hearts empathizing with the pain etched on his face and in his voice. 

"So, I went to confront him one day in the lunchroom. He wouldn't even look at me and kept eating with his dick friends like I didn't even exist. I was trying to talk, but he made me so angry, so I put my hand on his shoulder to make him look at me, and he just turned and punched me and got up and just kept punching me. And you know what happened? I got suspended! I was all bruised up, and he did not even have a scratch on him. I talked to the deans and even Principal Schnapp and told them everything, and they did not give a flying fuck." 

"Jesus. . ." Tom sighed heavily. Then he asked the other students in the class.

"You saw this happen?" 

They nodded guiltily. 

"And you said nothing?" 

They put their heads down. 

"Apologize," Tom demanded. "Apologize to him because that was not fair or right, and say it like you mean it, goddamn it." 

They apologized unison, and one brave student said, "Mr. Wilkerson, I am not trying to excuse my behavior. Vick, I am sorry again. I really am. But it would not have made a difference even if we said something." Tom knew they were sadly correct. Suddenly, a glimmer of an idea and determination ignited in his eyes, casting aside the shadows of anger that had consumed him. 

"Okay, I don't know how much time we have. Vick, you will have to admit to the Police you brought a gun to the Police. We can't change anything about that. You will say you did not intend to use it and just wanted to scare Matt. The shots happened when you dropped the gun. You will say that when I asked you for the rifle, you gave it to me willingly. Is that clear?" 

Vick nodded. Tom turned to the other students. 

"You will be the witnesses and corroborate that story. Is that clear?" 

They all nodded. 

"No one is lying here about anything, so there is no reason to be afraid. Now, I want you all to tell what happened with the Principal, deans, or whoever asks. Things should not have escalated to this level, and I am sorry you felt like you had to take matters into your own hands because the school did not protect you, and now you are the victim yet again." 

"Am I going to go to jail?" 

"I don't know, Vick. . . just stick to what we just talked about, and I think you will be okay." 

Outside the classroom, loud knocks on doors and distant shouts were now heard, mingling with the urgent voices of police officers. Slowly, the sounds of footsteps and muffled commands filtered through Tom's closed door.  

Then, two firm but very loud knocks made everyone in the classroom gasp, even though they were expecting it. 

"I am a local police officer. Is everyone in the classroom okay?" 

"Yes, officer." 

"Is anyone hurt or injured?" 

"No, officer, we are all safe." 

"How many students are in the classroom?"

"There are seven students, sir." 

"Is Vicktor Kroger in this classroom?" 

"Yes, sir, he is." 

Silence. Muffled voices and footsteps followed. 

"Am I speaking with Mr. Wilkerson?" 

"Yes, sir, you are." 

"Is there a weapon in that classroom ?"

"Yes, sir, there is. It is on the floor behind my desk and disengaged. This has just been. . ."

The officer cut him.

"Mr. Wilkerson, I need you to open the door slowly and come out." 

"Okay, officer. I am walking towards the door now. But I want to say that this is a big misunderstanding, and I . . ." 

Tom opened the door and was immediately grabbed by two officers. Outside of his classroom, there were at least twenty officers, more than half of whom had guns raised. Tom was then escorted out of the building and into a police car. 

In the next few days, Tom became a hero. He spoke to local news and national broadcasts and was invited to several events nationwide, podcasts, and even a TED talk. Matt was shunned or "canceled" by the whole school and transferred out that summer. Vick was expelled from the school and was on trial but was expected to have a very light sentence, if anything. For the first time, a school shooter garnered some sympathy from many around the country, including some teenage girls who posted about him on TikTok, and some even tried to reach out to him on Instagram. 

A month after the incident, Tom submitted his resignation, feeling he could no longer contribute. The school library was renamed the Thomas Wilkerson Library in his honor. Thomas became a national speaker, a voice for all teachers, and a professor at Northwestern University. Principal Schnapp was forced to resign after intense public pressure by the school community. Tom sent her a card wishing her the best of luck in her future endeavors without any "lapse of judgment."