Just another day, shooting…
Today’s flash fiction was inspired by video footage I saw that was filmed during the recent shooting at Brown University.
“Can you pass the potatoes?”
The chorus of Mariah’s popular holiday song responds from the far side of the kitchen, clashing with the somber energy in the room, but John does not. So, Marley raises her voice an octave, following Mariah’s lead.
“John?”
He remains silent, continuing to stare at his empty plate as if pondering its precise measurements. He’s been in a mute zombie-like trance since he came home from work, and it’s starting to worry her.
No matter what his job forces him to do and see during the day, John always puts a smile on his face by the time they all sit down to eat dinner at night, so he can be fully present with his family— as per their agreement when he joined the rapid response team at his precinct a couple years back.
But tonight is different and they both know it, even though it’s not, not really.
Deep down, John knows he must treat today like it’s any other day. But how? How does one normalize such things— such chaos, such fear, such grief, such violence, such senselessness— and learn to treat them as if they’re a normal part of his workday?
Crowd control and snagging drug dealers and traffickers was one thing. But what happened today? How does one normalize that as part of their job description without losing a bit of their soul each time they do?
Marley says his name again, and again gets no response, so she reaches over and gently places her hand on the back of his.
“Honey?” she says, softly.
“Hmm?” John looks up at her, slowly acknowledging the physical contact.
“Sorry,” he says, managing a small smile while patting the back of her hand in return.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
They both look over at their boys, eight and ten, who are on the other side of the table trying to sword fight with their limp asparagus while their parents are temporarily distracted.
Usually, they would reprimand the boys for such behavior at the table, but not tonight. Tonight is too heavy, and any amount of levity is welcome.
“I really don’t want to bring all of that home.” John sighs. “And we probably shouldn’t talk about it in front of them.” He juts out his chin, motioning toward the boys. “I’m not sure they’d understand.”
She nods, rubs her thumb across the back of his hand, then says, “Yeah, but it’s your third one this year. We should probably talk about it at some point.”
John stays silent, absorbing the casual way she mentioned that stat.
She tries to reassure him as she stands up to grab the potatoes herself. “I know you guys will catch him, honey. You always do.”
“That’s the thing,” John blurts. “I know he’ll be caught and get his due eventually. Hell, I hope I’m the one who catches him. It’s just…”
Marley waits for John to finish his sentence, using the opportunity to make strict eye contact with their youngest, who immediately takes a bite of his asparagus, officially ending the sword match with his brother, who also gets the hint.
“There was this one girl. I just can’t get the look on her face out of my mind.”
Marley isn’t so sure she wants John to elaborate now that the boys are paying attention but doesn’t dare interrupt once he finally starts sharing what’s weighing on his mind.
“She wasn’t even a little scared, Marley.” He looks over at her, his eyes full of worried confusion. “Usually, when we evac a group of people, they’re highly emotional, hysterical even, and need to be told exactly what to do. But this girl? She couldn’t have been over nineteen, and…” He shakes his head, getting choked up. “She was telling the group she was hiding with to hold their hands up and all that, long before we could. She knew exactly what to do, what we’d tell them to do. And she looked so calm, completely neutral, like —” He coughs to hide the emotion welling up in his throat. “She acted like she goes through that kind of thing every other day or something, like it was all completely normal.”
Before Marley can respond, their oldest speaks up, after swallowing a mouth full of mashed potatoes. “She probably did those drills in high school, dad. Those drills that show you what to do when there’s a shooter, so you’re prepared. That’s all. No big deal.”
Marley’s jaw practically drops to the floor once she registers that he, her baby boy, just said ‘when’ not ‘if’, and Sam closes his eyes and keeps them closed for at least a minute, trying to stay calm.
“It’s okay, daddy,” their youngest says. “We do them at school too, to be prepared.” Then he looks at his parents with large, proud eyes. “It’s totally normal,” he adds.
[Feel free to add more to this scene, then share what you end up writing in a comment or chat thread.]
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