The ringing bell cry that echoed through the halls
Was immediately followed by a swarm of uniforms and backpacks,
And the ring cried on but was now drowned out
By the sounds of students as each talked to the other
And slammed old textbooks into dull red lockers.
I was among them that day when I reached my locker
To slam my book inside.
Number 48,
I remember seeing that paint-chipped black text
Above the one next to mine. It was almost always empty,
But today crouched there was Walton
Wearing his camo-patterned backpack
Loosely around his right shoulder, his pale face
Under bright blond hair
Stared into his dusty locker
As I stared at him now.

the chirping grass in the muggy moonlit marsh
almost suppressed the fatal bang of a .22 inside. my silence

To him was not strange. We didn’t have the same friends
Or similar surface interests. No casual greetings
Or cordial conversations. His face and name were all I really knew.
But today it felt strange.
I wanted to break away, why
I wasn’t sure, something unstable under my skin seemed to start a scream,
But stopped and instead sucked down its cry, I wanted
To greet him warmly, shout something familiar—
Hey Walton! Wanna pack a lip in before practice? No, not me,
I would rather lay a delicate hand on that golden hair,
So unique and scarce now,
And smile at his returning scoff, What the hell are you doing touching me
Just please let me
Ask him a question or two
Before he escaped away down that never-ending hallway,
His outline fluorescent, a white highlight —
But I did not. No time.
I looked down at my digital wristwatch, then
My crisp loafers squeaked against the waxy floors
Once I realized time was truly short. I joined the crowd

where we sat stunned in pews and absorbed the sermon with daydreaming ears
until we walked like a parade of zombies into gray February air
that formed goosebumps on my skin under the black blazer, and
we watched the black hearse sputter away down Old Shell Road
until the motor faded and was gone.
i thought about chasing it. yell at the dead sound louder than I could
speak up at the locker in my head.
like still mannequins locked in place we had watched this, all 86 of us,
so on I walked along the dying grass in rhythm with the din of the church bells

Into the hallway towards my next boring class. The halls
Were now empty with the swarm relocated,
Save for Walton still crouched under the flickering white light
Of the locker room. Into the back of 48,

Staring.