Sifting through the day’s mail revealed a giant envelope addressed to my nickname. The return address wasn’t familiar, but the name sure was. Holy shit with a side of shut the front door!
I tore open the envelope and came face-to-face with a glittery Santa Claus smoking a pipe. As I opened the card a sprinkle of glitter guided a lock of dark brown hair to the table. Removing a small school photo from the center crease of the card revealed a scribbled message: “thanks for saving my life.”
I glanced out the window to check for flying pigs. Negative. I considered calling Satan to find out if hell had frozen over. I was sure I’d be eaten by a bear before hearing from him again.
The residential return address suggested he’d been released from jail so I messaged him on AOL to see if he’d respond. He did. Although he had been released from jail, he wasn’t completely out of the woods, though he was forging a path. He no longer wanted to kill everyone; just a few fat cops in his town. He didn’t want to kill me anymore, either. Surprising, since I ratted him out for planning mass murder.
When we caught each other live he hit me with his best shot: “they locked me up because of you.”
“You don’t know who your real friends are until they send you to jail,” I joked, seriously.
The last time we talked, he told me he was going to shoot up his school the next day and asked me to publish his journal to keep his memory alive. I knew he wasn’t joking. He’d been talking about it since his freshman year.
After turning him in, I didn’t hear anything about his situation so I asked him to fill me in. “What the hell happened?”
“After you called the cops on me they pulled me out of class…” he paused. His train of thought derailed. “I told you to look for me in the news on Monday. Why’d you wait until Wednesday to say something?”
“I didn’t wait and I didn’t call the cops. I spoke with your principal on Sunday. He must have waited a few days.” I wondered why he even told me what he was planning in the first place.
“You got ahold of the principal? On a Sunday? What are you, a cop or something? I always wondered.”
“Nope. Definitely not a cop. Just someone with solid researching skills.”
“If you say so…”
“What happened after they pulled you out of class? Did you get arrested?”
“Yeah. They took me to a conference room… asked if I had any weapons on me. When I told them I had a hunting knife in my boot they practically knocked me over to get it. They asked if I had weapons at home and I told them about my shotgun and rifle. They said a concerned citizen tipped them off that I might want to hurt people. I didn’t know what to say so I didn’t say anything.”
“How’d they find out what you were planning?” I wondered how honest he had been with the authorities.
“They didn’t get the whole story, well, not exactly. I admitted to fantasizing about shooting up the school, but said I never made any plans. I didn’t tell them about the bombs. I didn’t know they had a copy of our chats or I wouldn’t of told them anything. Those chats got me locked up for three months. You really thought I was serious?”
“Weren’t you?” He was selling denial and I wasn’t buying it.
“Yeah, well, maybe. I never know what I’m going to do until I get the urge to do it and then I just sort of act on impulse. Like Eric said, follow your fucking animal instincts.”
“Hmmm… three months, that seems short, considering…”
“Yeah, kinda. Three months was long enough for me to calm down a bit, though. Getting out of that school helped. Thanks for getting me expelled, by the way. That was the best thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
“You’re welcome? So, they found your guns, and you got out after three months?” Something didn’t add up. I knew what was in his bedroom. There’s no way they’d let him go after three months.
“I got lucky. The police never searched my house. I burned my diary and got rid of my explosives. If the cops found any of that I’d still be locked up. You could of given them so much shit to put me away for a long time. What if I got out of jail and did something worse like killed a bunch of innocent people at the mall or something?”
He had a point. He easily could have been released from jail only to go on a mass shooting spree somewhere else. However, at the time, I wasn’t concerned about what he might do after getting released from jail.
I thought about telling him the complete truth – that I didn’t turn him in to save other people’s lives – but felt a moral obligation not to admit that, so I was vague. “I made a judgment call that you’d get your shit together the way I did when I was your age. You’re a smart kid. You don’t belong in jail. Once they put you in the system it’s hard to get out. You’re one lucky motherfucker.”
He didn’t respond, so I changed the subject. “What was it like in jail?”
“Let’s just say it made me start thinking differently. I had nothing to do but stare at the walls and go to my counseling sessions. For a month straight all I thought about was finding you and killing you. Too bad you didn’t give me your address to send you my journal. If I had your address I could of sent somebody out.”
“Yeah, how did you get my address to send me that Christmas card, anyway?”
“Trade secrets. Can’t tell.”
“Fair enough. I’m sure it’s on the internet somewhere.”
“Maybe.”
“Hey, remember when we were talking about Columbine and you gave me a copy of Eric’s webpages? Reading the description of how he made his bombs and blew them up in the mountains gave me the inspiration to make my own explosives. But I didn’t tell the police you gave those documents to me.” His attempt to pass the buck was transparent.
“Did I give his webpages to you?” I knew I gave him those documents. I gave him every Columbine document I had, but didn’t want that on record. Besides, those documents were public record and all over the internet. Still, I played dumb.
“Yeah. When we first started talking. You sent me everything you had on Columbine. You gave me their home videos, too. Man, seeing them shooting their guns and walking around talking was like a tipping point for me. It was surreal. I thought you supported their actions. I wouldn’t of told you about my plans if I thought you were against what they did. It helped that you were using Eric’s screen name, too. It was hard not to spill my guts talking to my hero’s screen name. How’d you get it, anyway? I thought AOL suspended his account?”
“Trade secrets. Can’t tell.” I snickered at my computer screen.
“You sure you’re not a cop?”
“As sure as I can be, but I don’t expect you to believe me. Seeing as how we only know each other online, I could be lying to maintain my cover…”
“I guess that’s a risk I’ll have to take.”
He went dark for about ten minutes and when he came back, he got real.
“Before I started telling you shit I was already pushing myself more and more to do it, like, losing my mind intentionally, day after day, pushing myself to get ready to die and kill. Now I’m just waiting for the next person to set me off and that’s what sucks.”
When we first met, he told me he felt a burning rage that made him want to rip people apart with a knife since the age of three. I wasn’t surprised to learn that rage was still boiling over. Still, I suggested the possibility of a rageless future. “It’s not easy getting triggered all the time. At least you’re aware of it. Thankfully, anger fades over time.”
He wasn’t convinced. “See, my anger doesn’t fade. It’s always burning inside me even in this moment, but nobody’s stepping into my crosshairs yet. I’m naturally angry. I could snap at any moment.”
I didn’t know how to respond, so I was relieved when he didn’t give me the chance.
“Why’d you get interested in Columbine?” It was a question he’d never asked me before. “If you can’t tell me how you got Eric’s screen name, the least you can do is tell me why you even care about all this stuff in the first place.”
I wasn’t sure if I should tell him everything, but started typing to see what came out.
“You know how I ratted you out for planning to shoot up your school? I was caught with a similar plan back in junior high, several years before Columbine. I was 14. I was arrested and pushed through the system but they let me off the hook. I transferred schools after my freshman year to get a new start with kids I didn’t know. I wasn’t getting shit on as much until Columbine happened. Then it started all over again. I was “goth” so the administration flagged me as a potential shooter because I wore a long, black cloak. The principal told my teachers to keep an eye on me. Other students started calling me the “Trench Cloak Mafia.” They’d ask if I had a Tec-9 under my cape and when I was going to shoot them. I told them to wait and see. The desire to get revenge came back hard. Obviously, I didn’t go through with it, otherwise I wouldn’t be here talking to you…”
“How’d you turn your life around?” His question was sincere, but I wasn’t willing to return his sincerity.
“I’m not sure,” I dodged the question.
The truth was, at that point, I hadn’t turned my life around. I was still dancing across the line that divides personal responsibility from the belief that violence could be justified and even deserved.
My actions may have saved his life and the lives of others, but I didn’t deserve his gratitude. The only reason I turned him in was because I was afraid not to. I wasn’t concerned about the people he wanted to kill. I turned him in to protect myself and accidentally saved his life.
Click here to read Chapter 4: The Education of an Almost School Shooter