Chapter Eleven

I stepped through the front door into a crisp, cool morning. Locking the front door behind me. Birds whistled in the morning sunlight, almost in tune with the steady "tch-tch-tch" of my shoes rasping against the surface of the sidewalk. The neighborhood seemed to be fully alive.

Here a mom was corralling three small children in winter wear and super-hero backpacks out of the front door of their home. There a man wearing a sleek, black motorcycle helmet that matched the rest of his gear was slowly backing his bike out of his driveway.

Across the street, two teenage girls were getting into a clean, gray SUV. Several yards found themselves home to one or more massive piles of brown, crunchy leaves, just waiting for kids to jump into them. At the same time, it seemed that there was an almost tangible wariness permeating the air. This neighborhood wasn't far from Angel Grove High, so it was understandable that the people would feel a little uneasy.

The mom with her small children was glancing up and down the street every few seconds. The man sitting atop his motorcycle carried a black handgun holstered on the right side of his belt. The two teenage girls wore apprehensive expressions. The little signs pointed to all of them being afraid, but I could feel that fear without having seen the signs. I felt that fear deeply.

Of course, they'd be fearful. It had only been a week since 9 innocent people had been brutally gunned down a mere few miles from this very spot. In truth, the whole city, the whole nation, was on edge. No one really knew what to do. Some shouted for all guns to be taken away, reacting emotionally to a problem that required objective reason. Other's stoically refused to give ground on just about anything when it came to the law-abiding American citizens' right to bear arms, making their opponents even more frustrated and desperate.

In truth, both sides had good points. How could we allow these deadly weapons to continue circulating when so many innocent people had lost their lives as a result of criminals having access to them? A valid, if emotionally charged question. At the same time, did they really think creating new gun laws would stop evil people from doing evil things?

How many more students and teachers, innocent people, would have died at the hands of Dylan or Ericka if I hadn't been able to use a gun to kill her, causing him to kill himself? Granted, it wasn't my

gun that I'd used, but the number of times that innocent lives had been saved by a good guy with a gun far outweighed the number of lives lost, as tragic as those lost lives were.

These problems continued to plague me as I drew closer to the school. I certainly didn't have the answers, but I hoped that someone would come up with something soon; this killing had to stop. I couldn't shake the feeling that none of this was an issue of weaponry though, it was a bigger problem. This was a societal and cultural thing. Somewhere along the line, we'd done something wrong.

Maybe this problem with Dylan and Ericka could simply be blamed on poor parenting. Could it be that these two kids just snapped after being forced to endure too much hardship at the hands of their so-called "guardians"? What if this was instigated by Dylan, and Ericka followed along out of blind devotion? After all, he was the one who obtained the weapons.

Maybe it was the emasculation of America that was the cause. History had borne out the truth that humans are tribal by nature, and that men, in particular, have a penchant for war. Men are driven to

seek out risk and to gain status amongst their peers in an aggressive way. What happens to men when they are forced by societal expectations to deny their primal natures and to remain docile? Could there still be a place for the masculine man in modern America?

Were they all doomed to give their lives in service to their nations in war...like Rob might have; or in service to their own darkest impulses by acting as Dylan had? All of this and more swirled around in my mind like so many dust motes in the air. My train of thought was interrupted slightly as the steady "tch...tch...tch" of my shoes on the sidewalk was broken by the noise of a rock tumbling along in front of me. I looked down at the ground, realizing I'd kicked it myself.

With chagrin, I also realized that my mouth was hanging open slightly. I snapped it shut defiantly. I

hated the thought that there were some who thought of me as an idiot "mouth breather" because of it. And I hated that I cared about the opinions of others. My thoughts were interrupted again as I neared the front entrance of Angel Grove High.

I stopped in my tracks, mouth hanging open again, this time in shock. Hanging above the doors was a wide banner, white with black words. It read, "Thank you, Jamie." Apparently, the student body had been awaiting my arrival because a few moments later the front doors burst open and a steady stream of teenagers came rushing out toward me. I didn't move. The shock still had control as my eyes shifted from face to face.

What. The. Hell?

It must have only been a few seconds, but it felt like hours before the first of the students reached me. At the front were Oliver, Kara, and Arya. I studied their wide grins each, in turn, not fully

understanding what was happening.

"Hey bro, you might want to close your mouth," Oliver said with a chuckle. I bared my teeth in a mock grin.

"What is this?" I asked as I was fully encircled by smiling faces.

"What do you mean, man? This is a thank you!" his last words were shouted at the top of his lungs. A chorus of similar shouts echoed Oliver's and I couldn't help it as a wide smile appeared on my face.

Kara spoke up next, with a somber expression, "Jamie, we know what you had to do. We know that it must have been horrible for you. We're thankful for you and for what you did. There's no telling

how many more people those psychopaths would have...would have killed...if you hadn't stopped them. Thank you, Jamie."

Her eyes were beginning to water as she spoke her thanks. Her words felt like needles in my heart, but at the same time, they were warm, loving.

Arya put her hand on my shoulder, "Thank you, Jamie."

Tears were freely flowing down both of the sister's faces now. I dropped my backpack and embraced them both tightly, or at least as best as I could with one arm in a sling. Unexpectedly, another loud shout of "THANK YOU!" went up from the crowd as they all piled in for a massive group hug.

The air rang with laughter and thanks and conversation. The crowd backed up a bit, giving me room to step back as well. I realized then that my face was wet with tears. I quickly wiped my cheeks with my jacket sleeve and turned around in awe.

The pain was still very, very real, but I knew that I would never forget the looks of gratitude and relief on the faces of those around me. Kara and Arya; Oliver; I even saw Samaira, registering then that I hadn't really thought about her in days, not since her mother had teased me about my crush in the hospital after the Demon Lake ordeal. She still looked every bit as beautiful as she normally did, except that now her eyes were directed at me.