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“I know, I know,” I groan. “But!” I start, pointing a finger towards his face, “I’ve been to Maine and Florida, which is like, the whole east coast. That has to count as something!” I laugh.
He shakes his head. “No way.” I playfully shove him.
“I want to see a bit more of the world eventually, I guess,” I sigh. “But honestly, I have no desire to live anywhere else. This is my home, this is where my family is, this is where I want to put roots down.”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “In Jersey?”
I throw my head back with a short cackle. “Yes! I’m a Jersey Girl, through and through. Bruce Springsteen would love me.”
“She knows Springsteen, impressive.” He shoots me a side smile. We finally get to the building where my Creative Writing elective is. “I’ll pick you up tonight at six?” He asks as he gently tugs on my hand to bring me closer to him.
“Yes.” I smile.
He leans in to kiss me as I close my eyes, going up on my tippy toes to meet him. His fingers brush against my cheek as he kisses me.
He smiles, says he’ll see me later, and turns to walk to his own class. I stare after him a little dreamily for a few seconds before I remember where I am. Chuckling under my breath at my own ridiculousness, I go to open the door to my building. I feel a small chill as I grab the handle. Something across the courtyard catches my eye and I pause.
Standing still in the middle of dozens of students walking in every direction, staring at me, is Decker. My smile fades and my heart starts thumping loudly in my ears. He looks so angry; I feel the heat of his gaze all the way from here. I can see that he is clenching his fists at his side. His eyes are glowering at me. His angry expression almost looks like he is in pain. I tear my eyes away from him as I try to breathe normally and compose myself.
What is it about him that makes me lose any kind of collected togetherness I possess? It feels like I just turn into a mindless moron whenever I’m in his vicinity. As a person who prides herself on being almost always put together, prepared and confident…he is impressive at turning all of that upside down.
With one more glance in his direction, I turn away and walk into the building.
Once again, I can’t concentrate on my classes because freakin’ Elliot Decker continues to consume my thoughts. It feels like I am on the verge of a headache. I vaguely remember my Creative Writing class and my Humanities professor speaking about anthropology, but I can’t even focus enough to take decent notes. I write down some keywords that I hear, but eventually I accept the fact I am not going to get much from this class today. I know I can ask one of my classmates for their notes.
When class ends, I make small talk with a girl from the class as we walk to the parking lot together. She is so nice and we make plans to grab coffee sometime and study.
I get in my car and turn on some comfort music before I start the drive to my apartment in a daze, barely even looking at where I am going. Jason Mark fills my car and I’m losing myself in the music before realizing I am close to my street. But first, I stop at the gas station since I know I won’t want to stop tomorrow morning.
I’m always thankful for living in Jersey where they pump the gas for you, but I decide to go inside the little store to grab some pain medicine for the headache that has been creeping in. I know we don’t have any at home.
I walk down the aisles and find the medicine easily enough. After grabbing a bottle, I make my way to the checkout line. While I wait to checkout, I scroll social media on my phone, oblivious to my surroundings, but I pause when I hear the shouting start. I look up and see a man in a black ski mask holding the cashier at gunpoint. Gunpoint. With an actual, real gun.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a gun in real life before. A real gun. An actual real gun just a few feet away from me.
The cashier is a scrawny kid, probably only an inch or two taller than me. His eyes tell me he is terrified. My eyes can’t even process what I am seeing. Is this real life?
There is only one person ahead of me in line and his hands are already in the air. He is inching away from the gunman and closer to me.
I feel frozen, unable to move. I clutch my phone so tightly in both hands that I am sure my screen will crack.
The cashier starts to hastily shove money into the dirty canvas bag the gunman gave him.
I can’t breathe. My chest feels like it is going to explode.
The gunman is shaking nervously. He keeps fidgeting, looking at the cashier then out the window and back to the cashier. He frantically looks around at the people in the store. He looks at me, his eyes flickering down, seeing my phone in my hand. He turns the gun on me.
“Put your phone down, NOW!” He yells before he continues with a string of colorful expletives.
I am completely frozen, unable to move with an actual real gun aimed at me. It’s the scariest thing in the world. It’s crazy the fear that a small piece of metal can demand. I always thought that if I ever found myself in a moment like this, my life would flash before me. I’ve watched so many movies and read so many books about how the hero or heroine facing possible death remembers all of the incredible moments of their lives, like Bruce Willis in Armageddon. Sorry, spoiler alert. I keep waiting for those flashes of memory to come, those images of my best moments, but nothing does. I stare into the barrel of a gun and the only thing I can think of is everything I won’t be able to do.
I’ll never graduate college and find a dream job. I’ll never adopt a senior dog from a shelter to give them the best last years of their lives. I’ll never start a teacher blog where I share ideas about teaching that works for all types of learners. I’ll never fall in love. I’ll never get married. Who would I have married?
“Did you hear me? Put your phone down!” He screams and curses at me, waving the gun around. The man in front of me jumps in fear and I know we are all feeling the same terror. I drop my phone to the ground and put my hands up.
“Take that gun off of her right now.” A familiar voice breaks me from my trance-like state as he slowly comes up behind me. A calm and assuredness settles around the fear that I feel everywhere. I never thought I would be happy and relieved to hear his voice, but I am. The sound of his voice has never sounded scarier yet more comforting than it does right now.
“Get back! Right now, I’m not playing around!” The gunman waves his gun toward the cashier again who is silently crying as he continues to fill the bag with money. Elliot Decker moves to stand in front of me quickly, his hands raised. The gunman puts the gun back on us, on Elliot.
