By Kelly Keene

February 5, 2019

It’s the one sound you never want to hear. Action is delayed as it rings and reverberates radiating off the stone cold walls. Schools are normally warm and happy, but when the long bell rings, the halls are silent. And there is not a soul in sight. 

Shaky hands fumble with the blinds that, on this day, and in this moment, do not cooperate to block out the light. Lights out. Stay down. Make no sound. 

That’s when our bodies betray us. Our heart beats louder when we want it to be nearly still. Our breath quickens when we want to remain calm, and our minds- our minds race wildly out of control.

We hear shots and see blood even if we don’t, not really. But these images are clear because we have seen them too many times before. Flashing on all the screens. 

After sufficient time passes, we start to feel helpless. What can we do? Only action can temper the storm of adrenaline built up in every body crouching behind a desk, but inaction will keep those bodies breathing. Patience is harder when danger could be behind any of the two hundred and nine doors. 

When we cannot act to temper the storm, communication seeps beneath the cracks. Texts fly across town. Snaps, and posts, and e-mails zoom from multiple devices. Sometimes, a phone rings but many are afraid to answer it. Hope is the thing with reception. Hope is the “I love yous.” 

When the long bell rings, the world stands still, and the mind races. When the long bell rings, we pause to appreciate the warmth from moments ago that seem, already, so far away. When the long bell rings, fear reigns. 

But when it stops, and the doors are open once more, and the mothers find their children, and the teachers come back to work the next day, we know that the long bell does end. Fear has limits. And we learned all that, and so much more, in a school.