Simons Rock College of Bard, December 14, 1992.
I remember my friend running into the dorm, shouting that he was being shot at. Then I saw the oddest cloud, and a bullet landed in the wall eight feet away from me. I didn’t understand. It did not make sense: In 1992, we were supposed to be safe in college in the Berkshires of Massachusetts.
The chaos ensued. We tried to figure out what was happening — calling friends on campus. Rumors spread of who was dead. We peered and listened out the windows and wondered if we heard people dying. At one point, we were yelled at by the SWAT team to “GET DOWN!”
Then we were corralled by the administration into the dining hall, above the student union where Wayne Lo had been captured. Later, the news crews swarmed like vultures.
When my parents drove the five hours to pick me and my friends up the next day, they said we were like children who had been through a war. We huddled together in shock and fear.
Part of me still feels that way, having never fully recovered or regained the blissful state of feeling safe.