Sweet Dandelion

He gives me a look.

“I am,” I clarify.

We walk side by side to his office and I plop unceremoniously onto the loveseat. I don’t have my bag, since it’s back in the art room, but I figure I can get it later.

Mr. Taylor pulls his chair out and around the desk, sitting in front of me. Leaning forward, he clasps his hands, blowing out a breath. Rubbing his hands nervously on his slacks, he watches me, not knowing what to say. I don’t know either, and silence reigns.

After a solid five minutes, he pleads, “Say something. I want to help you but I don’t know how.”

“That’s the thing,” I whisper, tearing my gaze from the window, “there’s nothing you can do to help. You might look like Superm

an, but you’re not him. You can’t save the world, you can’t save me, you can’t stop bad people from doing bad things.”

His face screws up with frustration. “There has to be something,” he begs. “Talk to me, please.”

“What do you want me to say?” I fight back. “That hearing that was like being shot all over again? That the memory of the screams echoed through my head, that I felt the warm wetness of blood beneath me, that I hate the fucking color red so fucking much and it’s everywhere in this Goddamn school?” My voice rises to a shout, thank God his office is on this lonely hallway.

He pales, his fists opening and closing like he’s having a hard time not touching me.

“So much evil exists in the world,” I continue, my voice lowering to a soft whisper, “but there’s good too, I know it, the problem is when the good guys do nothing to stop the villains. The shooting at my school changed nothing and this won’t either. I’m not trying to be cynical, just realistic. And you know what? It’s maddening living in a world where our lives are valued so little and if something brings you even a sliver of happiness it’s in some way wrong.” He knows I’m talking about him now, I can see it in his eyes. “It becomes selfish to want one thing that’s yours.”

“Dani—”

I sit back, crossing my arms over my chest. “Talk to Mr. Gordon, or whoever is necessary, I want to go home. I want my brother to come get me.”

He stares at me for a long moment, his jaw working back and forth. “Okay,” he finally says, standing. His chair rocks back and forth in his absence, squeaking slightly.

He rounds his desk, picking up the black-corded phone. I barely listen to his words as he speaks to the office.

When he hangs up the phone he tells me they’re calling Sage.

“My backpack is in the art room.” I still won’t look at him, I don’t want him to see the anger simmering inside me, ready to explode. I’m not mad at him, so I don’t want him to misinterpret.

I’m so fucking furious at the people who have the power to make a change, but don’t give a damn.

We’re all a bunch of helpless sheep, whether you realize it or not.

The sigh he exhales is sad, tinged with a little bit of frustration. “I’ll go get it for you.”

“I can get it myself.”

Another sigh, this one even heavier with frustration. I force myself to look at him, the fingers of his left hand sit on his hip and he rubs his brow with his right. “I said I’ll get it, Dani. You … sit here.”

He motions for me to stay and heads out, the door closing a bit too loudly.

Laying down on the couch, I stare up at the ceiling reliving the fear all over again, what I experienced a year ago is fresh for all those students only a few miles away.

“I never thought anything like this would happen here,” I heard so many people say after the shooting.

I think that’s part of the problem, the human naivety that wherever you are is safe, but anything can happen to anyone, anywhere. I’m not even trying to be a Negative Nancy, as my mom would say, it’s just the damn truth.

Laying my hands on my chest I tap my fingers impatiently, waiting for Mr. Taylor to return. There’s more than one art room, but since he didn’t ask for details I didn’t give them.

The phone in his office rings, and even though I shouldn’t, I swing my legs onto the floor and get up to answer it.

“Mr. Taylor’s office,” I answer.

“Um … is Mr. Taylor there?”