Staying #CharlotteStrong

The morning was normal. I woke up like usual, brushed my teeth like usual, and got dressed like usual. My routine is a boring one, and I had expected April 30th, 2019 to be just as boring. Boy, was I wrong. I don't think there's going to be another day like this for me.

It was the last day of classes for all students, and our excitement was reflected on social media with plans of beach trips, graduation photos, and grad school acceptance letters. There was a Waka Flocka Flame concert scheduled for later that evening that was sure to make everyone's Snapchat and Instagram even more explosive. I had even spoken to a friend that same morning about how she thought it was going to be a “lituation.”

I sped walked to my last linguistics class of the year where we just spoke about the inequality of the state testing system, and how brown people and immigrants are set up to fail. You know, fun stuff. The break in my schedule was long. I used the time to pick up a prescription, send an email, and do other tasks, but most of my time had been spent in the student union until my math class started.

Because it was the last day of class, and the final was next week, my professor wanted to get out just as much as his students. We went over what would be on the test quickly, and left the room. I headed to Robinson to wait for my boyfriend who had gotten off of work earlier.

30 minutes later, while lying down and decompressing for the day I received the email. “Run, Hide, Fight. Shots fired on campus”

I asked my mom, who is a grad student at UNCC, if she received the email as well. We both initially wrote it off at a joke, or a hacker until we started receiving text messages from the school and I started receiving updates from my sorority a few minutes later.

My boyfriend came to pick me up for plans that we had made earlier with friends. I asked him to name everyone we know who was on campus. His list was damn near never-ending. I got in his car, and with thoughts of funerals in my mind, I texted everyone who's number I had. In the end everyone I know personally was safe. It was on the way to meet up with friends when we found out that two people had died. By this point we had both texted people to make sure they were safe but only half had responded.

It was an angry, silent, and confused car ride to the restaurant. On the way we learned that two students had been killed. Later we would learn that one, Riley Howell, who was 21, had died tackling the shooter and saving even more lives. He was an ROTC student, and is being buried with military honors.

We all poured over twitter and text messages looking for any details we could. We found out who the shooter was, we heard screams and cries in videos, and we watched a statement by the dean of students.

“What ifs” still go through my mind like wind through trees. What if my teacher didn't end class early? What if traffic was bad and my boyfriend was late? What if I talked to friends instead of left? To know that there are probably alternate realities out there where I didn't make it is probably going to bother me for a while. That's okay. The shooter (who doesn't deserve to have his name mentioned) took a sense of self, not only from the victims families, but from the students and campus as a whole. Because of him we have to be #charlottestrong when all we wanted to do was pass our classes, and go to a stupid rap concert.

What he failed to see was that the one thing southerners are good at is rallying in a time of need. The vigil was quickly planned and packed, businesses are supporting students and faculties and various ways, churches are opening their doors, and tweets of support have been pouring in from all over the world.

The asshole may have tried to upend our lives, but things will eventually get back to normal.