Saturday

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Saturday.
I think it was a Saturday. I mean, give me credit here; it was summer, and how many high-schoolers keep track of menial things like the day of the week over summer vacation? None I know, at least: most have “better” things to do, and days fly by so quickly.
But even if I wasn’t sure of the date, there was one point upon which I was absolutely positive. It was a gorgeous, sunny day- you know, one of those days you see a description of in a book, or hear being reported in a place like Florida, or California. The kind that everyone knows doesn’t really exist: hot summer days overflow with bugs, sweat, and dog poop, which I have yet to hear acknowledged in any of those idealized teenage summers.
Yet if there could be a “perfect” sunny day, this had to be it. A light breeze played across my face and gently resettled my long, wavy brown hair behind my shoulders without whipping it across my face as I had become accustomed to. The sun warmed my back, but the air, rather than being muggy or dry, was light and refreshing.
Another thing people always refer to- something “too good to be true?” Well, I’ve got to disagree on this one, too. I mean, random chance triggers positive results as often as the negative. And where to draw the line- when does something go from “good,” to “too good?” It just doesn’t make sense to me. But I guess that at some level of subconscious I must acknowledge this as a possibility, because even as I tilted my face upwards to squint at the sparsely clouded baby-blue sky, I felt a faint uneasiness that I couldn’t quite place.
Then it hit me.
Literally.
I didn’t register anything beyond a faint sense of shock, like when you’re nodding agreeably as someone talks and they suddenly jump to a random, illogical conclusion, and you just keep smiling amiably for a minute before awareness kicks in and you’re like, ‘Wait, what?’
That’s how it was with me. Now in hindsight it’s crystal-clear what happened, what I should’ve done. But at the time it was just an angry voice rising above the hubbub, and I zoned it out: you hear ‘em all the time in parking lots. How was I to know that the next instant they would flip out and a handgun would materialize from beneath their bulky jacket, unusually heavy for such a warm day? That before I was even aware of the weapon, he had spewed a round of bullets into the bustling crowd of shoppers? That one would hit me in the head? Critically- guess I should be grateful for the instantaneous death, considering the possibilities. Now when I remember my death, it’s like I can see the bullets I hadn't even been conscious of. See them oozing through the air like molasses. See one bear down upon me as I remain unable to move, chained in place as the erasure of my existence bears down upon me.





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