Shootings

Shootings at schools. I don't get it. I don't want to get it. Two shootings today, at schools. Palo Verde High School and Whitney Elementary School ... two transported ... one fatality, a 9th grader. A patron gives me a lopsided grin at the announcement ... "Yeah, Palo Verde" is his only response. Where's the horror? Where's the tightened jaw? Where's the pain? A lopsided grin.

"Palo Verde? Oh, that's over on the other side of town" a random wave towards the north. "Up there." So, that's okay? I bite my tongue, may I never become accustomed to violence, so that a casual response sufices. Ninth grade, fourteen or fifteen years old, an unlived life, leaving grief and loss in its wake. Ninth grade, math, science, p.e., movies, boyfriends, girlfriends, going to the mall, giggling with friends, screaming at scary movies, complaining about cleaning up, staying up late, 'whatever', practicing foul language, showing off and then hiding. Ninth grade. Never tenth grade, never prom night, never holding hands, never never when ninth grade ends with ninth grade.