Saugus Strong

Content related to: Gun Violence

 Pseudonyms were used to protect the identity of the author and others mentioned throughout the story. 

By: Lola 

I come from a little town on the edge of Los Angeles. It’s not so little, really, but everyone always seems to know everyone – generations of families have grown up around each other and somehow there’s always a connection from a friend of a friend etc. Even when I left my hometown of Saugus, I kept running into everyone with always the same ‘what high school are you from? Oh my X relative went there! I think our parents were friends.’   

When my best friend texted me to check the news “there’s been a shooting,” it was only about 7 am. My friend and I had both graduated from Saugus High four years prior, but we still knew plenty of friends who hadn’t graduated yet.  I still had family who hadn’t graduated yet: 

            My step-brother.

            My two cousins. 

I called my sister a few schools over – they were in lockdown. No one knew what was happening.  I called my dad, an emergency responder and parent students at the school – he was in responder mode, one of the first emergency vehicles to arrive. I called my step-brother – no answer. I called my cousins, Mia and Ivan – no answer. I began leaving messages anywhere I could. Finally, Mia answered and let me know she was hiding in a classroom. There wasn’t a thing I could do. I was hundreds of miles away.

I biked to class and sat through a lecture I didn’t hear. In my mind I could picture the campus, picture the rooms I lived in for four years. Parents sent their children to our school because it was the safe one. All of my uncles, my aunts, my cousins, we all went to the same high school because we were so proud to be Saugus Centurions.  

Two rows over someone else had the news running on loop. I began pulling up every source of feed I could find. The news looped and looped and looped. No one knew anything but I couldn’t help it, it was all I could watch while my cousin was still unaccounted for. Cameras zoomed in on the quad at the entrance. News vans pulled up to the back fields I spent countless practices on. I knew these spaces and it felt so alien to have it all shown on the news. 

I called my step-mom, she was still in lockdown on her campus. I didn’t make it to any more classes that day, I just let the footage play on the TV. My roommates didn’t know what to do so they sat and watched the footage with me. Waiting. 

The scene began to shift as kids were bussed to a nearby park. My dad quickly found Mia and when Mia got home she found out that Ivan had run home and hid there. My step-brother called and let me know he also ran until he got to a friend’s house. I had spent hours waiting for answers. I spent the rest of the day dissecting what exactly had happened. 

A sophomore had ordered parts over the last year leading up to his birthday. The fifteen year old gunman had decided for his birthday he wanted to unload a handgun into the central quad of campus.  My step-brother had heard the shots and ran. Ivan had seen the gun and ran. The gunman had unloaded his rounds, saving the last for himself.  

When the first responders got on site, they found three bodies and no gunman. They never suspected a kid could do this. I never suspected a kid could do this.  

Over the next few months I remember being so angry at the news channels. Suddenly my town was a shining example of gun violence in America. Politicians wanted to use us to push gun legislation. “Look at Saugus!” Reporters began messaging me wanting to know how I felt. “Listen to Saugus!” We were on display. It felt like we were being exploited for our pain, for our loss. They wanted to know how it felt to lose safety, how it felt to lose children, how it felt to lose. We were no longer Saugus. We were the survivors. 

We had no choice, we became something better than what they could exploit us for. Local anchors and radio station hosts began parking by the school to block vans and reporters trying to follow the kids into the school. Police helicopters held a radius to prevent air footage. Neighboring high schools began donating blankets in an effort to provide some type of comfort – every student got a blanket to have something soft and warm to hold onto during class. Volunteers brought in support dogs and offered lending ears for anyone who just needed to talk. We began building a bubble of protection around the students. We began to protect our town from lingering microphones. We were no longer survivors; we were Saugus Strong.

A few minutes had changed the lives of an entire high school. Support groups appeared for parents and children and teachers. Our town now wears the scar of that day, but we now also show the strength we gained by turning towards one another in a time of need. During the vigils, there were three children that were mourned – two innocent children and one who had felt no other escape from pain. Over a year later, we remember the day as a day of forgiveness. In pain there is fear, in forgiveness there is peace.