Shooter Inside
Sandra Hunter
--Shooter! Shooter!
I am running and everyone is running away from Macy’s and Wetzel’s and the stall selling phone cases and I am holding onto the Baby Bjorn with Leela’s head peeking out the top. I am holding on like she is part of me which she is and has been for the past year and three months, but only outside my body for six. And I am so glad I’m wearing tennis shoes and not my usual slip ons.
I am running fast. Run, mommy, run. I’ve left the stroller and the bags of whatever it was I can’t remember.
It’s like thunder—it’s like war. People are kicking and tripping over the small metal tables and chairs. And there is a streak of blood on the tile but maybe that’s from tripping on a chair. And the scrape and squeak of trainers and leather and plastic and screaming and I know better than to scream because you cannot run efficiently while you’re screaming. And I have to run efficiently. Leela, head tucked under my chin, still too startled to react. But it will happen. Leela will—please don’t let her scream. I cannot run efficiently and calm down my screaming baby.
It’s a fucking war. Not the escalator and not the elevator. Where should I run to where is the nearest exit or maybe I shouldn’t run that way oh shit oh shit oh shit I should have paid more attention to locating the nearest exit. That’s what you’re supposed to--
A screaming woman sprints past me her screaming kid staring at me over his mother’s shoulder. A lot of women running with their kids. Some have three. One woman has four but she’s the most organized: carries one, the other three hold hands and the biggest one holds onto the woman’s skirt, and they hurtle through the mall like they’ve been training for this.
I follow her because she looks like she knows what she’s doing. But I swerve aside as we make it through the glass doors and there’s the shots pop-pop-pop and the woman screams and I don’t look I don’t look and the spray of pop-pop-pop and something hits me hard
something rocks my body and I nearly fall but I have to hold Leela safe and I know--
I know--
But I have to keep running Leela needs me to keep running and I do. Run, mommy, run. I am super mom I can take buildings in a single bound. I can take bullets in a single bound
I will not think about being shot.
Leela’s feet kicking Leela’s precious feet. Kick my darling kick we’ll be out of this soon.
Sirens going off does that mean the police are here? And someone on a loud hailer but I don’t know what they’re saying. Someone shouts the police, the police. And I see the uniforms that must be them is that them? Is someone dressing up like them? I run past. I can run much faster than any police officer but a police woman grabs my arm.
--Are you alright ma’m? Are you okay?
I’m okay. I’m okay. I just need to get Leela out of this and me out of this.
And the officer says,
--You need to sit down. You need to sit here.
And she puts a blanket around me and calls for back up on her radio.
--Keep talking to me, ma’m. What’s your name?
What’s my name. Her name is Leela.
--Her name is Leela. She’s six months--
--Just sit tight here. You’re okay here. We have four police officers who will stay with you. I’ll stay with you. The ambulance is coming. We’ve got the shooter inside. You’re safe now.
But I can’t stop running in my head. I’m running with Leela’s head bobbling against my chest.
--What’s your name?
My name. My name is--
--Are you sure it’s safe? I should get--
--Ma’m. You’re safe here. We’ll take care of you. But you need to sit down. You’re bleeding.
The blood is all over my legs. How can there be so much. I hold Leela out of the way so she isn’t covered and her head is tipped to one side. Leela.
Her eyes are closed and her face is warm and I pull her close and rest my cheek against her face that smells of baby soap and baby breath.
And I don’t turn her over to check because I don’t want to find the hole in the back of the Baby Bjorn.
She rests against me, the person who loves every part of her, even changing her diapers. Six months new in the world and still part of me. And still part of me. And still. And still.
They try to take her. Ma’am, we need to…
But I hold on. She is not going with you. She is not going with anyone. She is staying right here.
--Ma’am, we need to...
And someone tries to unlock my arms but I will not let them I will not. And someone brings a needle because someone is screaming. They should make that screaming stop.
Sandra Hunter
--Shooter! Shooter!
I am running and everyone is running away from Macy’s and Wetzel’s and the stall selling phone cases and I am holding onto the Baby Bjorn with Leela’s head peeking out the top. I am holding on like she is part of me which she is and has been for the past year and three months, but only outside my body for six. And I am so glad I’m wearing tennis shoes and not my usual slip ons.
I am running fast. Run, mommy, run. I’ve left the stroller and the bags of whatever it was I can’t remember.
It’s like thunder—it’s like war. People are kicking and tripping over the small metal tables and chairs. And there is a streak of blood on the tile but maybe that’s from tripping on a chair. And the scrape and squeak of trainers and leather and plastic and screaming and I know better than to scream because you cannot run efficiently while you’re screaming. And I have to run efficiently. Leela, head tucked under my chin, still too startled to react. But it will happen. Leela will—please don’t let her scream. I cannot run efficiently and calm down my screaming baby.
It’s a fucking war. Not the escalator and not the elevator. Where should I run to where is the nearest exit or maybe I shouldn’t run that way oh shit oh shit oh shit I should have paid more attention to locating the nearest exit. That’s what you’re supposed to--
A screaming woman sprints past me her screaming kid staring at me over his mother’s shoulder. A lot of women running with their kids. Some have three. One woman has four but she’s the most organized: carries one, the other three hold hands and the biggest one holds onto the woman’s skirt, and they hurtle through the mall like they’ve been training for this.
I follow her because she looks like she knows what she’s doing. But I swerve aside as we make it through the glass doors and there’s the shots pop-pop-pop and the woman screams and I don’t look I don’t look and the spray of pop-pop-pop and something hits me hard
something rocks my body and I nearly fall but I have to hold Leela safe and I know--
I know--
But I have to keep running Leela needs me to keep running and I do. Run, mommy, run. I am super mom I can take buildings in a single bound. I can take bullets in a single bound
I will not think about being shot.
Leela’s feet kicking Leela’s precious feet. Kick my darling kick we’ll be out of this soon.
Sirens going off does that mean the police are here? And someone on a loud hailer but I don’t know what they’re saying. Someone shouts the police, the police. And I see the uniforms that must be them is that them? Is someone dressing up like them? I run past. I can run much faster than any police officer but a police woman grabs my arm.
--Are you alright ma’m? Are you okay?
I’m okay. I’m okay. I just need to get Leela out of this and me out of this.
And the officer says,
--You need to sit down. You need to sit here.
And she puts a blanket around me and calls for back up on her radio.
--Keep talking to me, ma’m. What’s your name?
What’s my name. Her name is Leela.
--Her name is Leela. She’s six months--
--Just sit tight here. You’re okay here. We have four police officers who will stay with you. I’ll stay with you. The ambulance is coming. We’ve got the shooter inside. You’re safe now.
But I can’t stop running in my head. I’m running with Leela’s head bobbling against my chest.
--What’s your name?
My name. My name is--
--Are you sure it’s safe? I should get--
--Ma’m. You’re safe here. We’ll take care of you. But you need to sit down. You’re bleeding.
The blood is all over my legs. How can there be so much. I hold Leela out of the way so she isn’t covered and her head is tipped to one side. Leela.
Her eyes are closed and her face is warm and I pull her close and rest my cheek against her face that smells of baby soap and baby breath.
And I don’t turn her over to check because I don’t want to find the hole in the back of the Baby Bjorn.
She rests against me, the person who loves every part of her, even changing her diapers. Six months new in the world and still part of me. And still part of me. And still. And still.
They try to take her. Ma’am, we need to…
But I hold on. She is not going with you. She is not going with anyone. She is staying right here.
--Ma’am, we need to...
And someone tries to unlock my arms but I will not let them I will not. And someone brings a needle because someone is screaming. They should make that screaming stop.
