Bedtime-Story.com
Stories Worth Talking About
COLUMBINE, PARKLAND, UVALDI...
RECOMMENDED
AGE FOR THIS STORY: Jr. and Sr. High School students and Adults.
Timothy Gray and his sister Amanda burst into their grandmother’s den.
"Gram...on the news..." Amanda began breathlessly.
"There was a news report, Gram," said Timothy, his eyes wild. "We were at Billy’s house...and Billy’s father said we should come home right away...because...he heard...we heard...something happened...and it was on the news...and they...they said that...that..." faltered Timothy.
Timothy’s face was flushed. His heart was pounding wildly, and his hands were beginning to shake.
"Gram?"
Timothy and Amanda’s grandmother sat very still in her big wingback chair. She stared out the window at something very far away. As if frozen in place, her hand clutched the telephone receiver that lay in her lap. It was making those beeping sounds, the way it does when you forget to hang the landline phone up.
With a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, Timothy quietly took the receiver from his grandmother’s hand and hung it up.
"Gram" Amanda rattled nervously, "It happened where they are, right? So we better call to make sure they’re OK, hadn’t we? Gram? We’ll call them up and see if maybe they knew the ones it happened to...I mean, because...because...we know that it was some other people this happened to, right, Gram? We’ve gotta call right now, because...it’s not...it wouldn’t be...it couldn’t be...them..."
"It was, honey," she whispered.
A tear rolled quietly down Grandma’s cheek as she fought for control.
Amanda gasped, trying to understand.
"This is not happening," Amanda’s mind said calmly. "Rewind. Select alternate ending."
"So...so...when...this happened...they...they got hurt...right? Amanda’s voice began to shake. "But they’re...they’re gonna be OK, right, Gram? And we’ll go to the hospital, right? And we’ll tell them they’re gonna be OK."
Amanda was finding it hard to breathe. "They’re gonna be OK, aren’t they? Gram? Grandma?"
Amanda’s grandma turned to the two of them, and her eyes were filled with pain. She shook her head slowly.
"No, honey," she said softly. "They’re not going to be OK."
"They’re not dead?" blinked Timothy, shaking his head as if to deny this was happening. His anguished grandmother closed her eyes to the words.
"They’re dead?" he said, dazed. "They can’t be dead, Grandma," Timothy said firmly. It was not possible to comprehend this. His head was beginning to spin.
"They can’t be dead," he said again. "Grandma, they’re young," as if the inherent logic in that statement could somehow overcome the horror of the news he was struggling to deal with.
"Grandma, they’re young," it was a whispered plea.
Timothy’s knees went weak. He doubled over as if he’d just been hit in the stomach. The pain was so awful it made him want to throw up.
Amanda’s hands curled into fists, instinctively rising to her head, as if to ward off invisible blows to her mind. "NOOOOOOOOO!" she wailed. "NOOOOOOO!"
Amanda’s scream was like a knife to her grandmother’s heart. She held her arms out and gathered the pair to her. As she did so, she closed her eyes and offered a silent prayer.
"Dear God, help us get through this."
Amanda leaned back and took her grandmother’s face in her both her hands. "You make this not happen, Grandma. You make this not happen," she pleaded with a sob.
Amanda’s voice began to rise.
"Make – THIS—NOT --- HAPPEN--Grandma!!" Amanda commanded, her voice shaking.
"MAKE ...THIS...NOT...HAPPEN!!" she shrieked hysterically.
Her grandmother cradled her in her arms.
Timothy sat down on the floor with a thud. He drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, absentmindedly rocking to and fro as he sat there.
"Not even Grandma can make this not happen, Amanda," he said woodenly.
His body felt like lead. His mind was numb. His rested his forehead on his knees. He couldn’t think past the words "This can’t be happening. No way can this thing be happening."
"I’m so sorry, love," said Grandma, with a sob. "I’m so sorry. For us, and for them. For everybody." She reached out and touched their faces, stroked their heads.
Timothy drew back, looking at his grandmother with fury in his eyes. "You can’t be sorry for anybody who did this?!" he demanded.
Amanda collapsed onto her knees on the floor and sobbed uncontrollably. Her head lay in her grandmother’s lap, and like a drowning child, she continued to hold on to her grandmother‘s hands for dear life.
"Everyone's family is going to have to live with what happened, Timothy," she said with a ragged sigh.
"Why did this have to happen?" he shouted angrily. "How could it happen?"
Timothy balled up his fist and hit the arm of the chair as hard as he could. "Why would somebody want to hurt innocent people?"
"Why them?" he screamed.
He rose up on his knees and hit the arm of the chair again, this time with both fists, screaming "Why hurt people WE care about? Why would somebody do this? What did it accomplish except to hurt us, and everybody else this happened to?"
"Grandma..." Timothy wailed in helpless anguish, "What's the matter with somebody's head? What would make them do this?"
"Damn them!" he raged. "Damn, damn, damn!" Timothy hit the chair again and again, sobbing, overcome with rage and grief.
"Timothy..."
"Bad people," moaned Amanda. "Bad people did this."
Amanda’s grandmother held them close again.
"So many lives shattered," she thought wearily. "And for what possible purpose?"
|
The Conversation. - by Cynthia
Gurin - Copyright 1999
Stories Worth Talking About
Stories
and Illustrations found on this site are exclusive to Bedtime-Story
Reproduction
of any content without the express
written permission of Bedtime-Story is prohibited.
