Reading Saqqara's journal

I wrote this last semester in Freshman English I for an assignment we had on remembering.

Sitting in a classroom after lunch waiting for the teacher to arrive, you'd never expect a life altering event to occur. It's the last thing on your mind, but it happens. It happened to me. Franklin Delano Roosevelt said December 7, 1941 was a day that would live in infamy. March 1, 2000 is my day in infamy.

The day started like any normal day at Humphrey High. We all went to class, passed notes, stood in the hallway and talked, and even enjoyed a friendly game of softball in P.E. Lunch was when the day turned from normal to a freakish nightmare.

While waiting for our English teacher to appear after lunch, a girl came in and told us she thought she heard some of the teachers talking about a train accident. We dismissed the news and resumed chatting amongst ourselves. Twenty minutes into the period, Mrs. Dardenne still had not showed up to teach us about comma splices. The class began to get worried. Shortly after, Mrs. Gower came into the room with a solemn lok on her face. She announced the news in a voice that was barely more than a whisper. Four of our schoolmates had been involved in a train accident. There were confirmed casualties. The class sat in stunned horrified silence.

Mrs. Gower herded us like deft cattle down to the gym. There were students already there, gathered into a loose circle. We joined them. Some were crying, holding each other for support. Some were being comforted by teachers. Most were like me, sitting with tears running down their cheeks, whispering along in a barely audible voice to Mrs. Holbert singing "Amazing Grace." Before Mrs. Holbert could finish, Mr. Smith, the principal came in, whispering he had news. The gym fell silent as a shadow. There were no survivors. The wail that rose up grew louder, like a surge of a tidal wave as students and faculty alike grieved for the four students lost. The silence was shattered. So were our lives. Some where in the deep wave of screaming and crying, Mr. Henley announced there would be no more school that week. None of us planned on returning.

The accident happened on a Wednesday. The four funerals were set for Saturday and Sunday. I don't know which was worse, having to hear that four of my friends were killed, or having to attend their funerals. I was all cried out. I sat numbly listening to the preacher speak, and then the choir sing. I don't remember anything that was said, or any of the songs that were sang. I was too numb.

School resumed that Monday. Hardly anyone was there. The National Guard erected an open-sided tent for students to place flowers and such. The art teacher made a beautiful wooden plaque which read, "Once In Our Lives, Forever In Our Hearts." Trauma counselors were present, but nothing any of them could tell us would make us feel any better.

Eventually, we got over the trauma of losing close friends, but never their absence. There is a special space in my heart where they belong. That will never be gone. There was an empty chair at graduation, where Brady Alan Frizzell would have sat. I still think he did.

The art teacher said it best with her statement. To this day, and on into the future, I will never forget any of those four. Though I knew and enjoyed their presence in life, they will always remain forever in my heart.

"It is much more comfortable to be mad and know it, than to be sane and have one's doubts."