Today was supposed to be a day like any crazy/normal day: too much to do in far too little time, a new schedule, a new job, and I longed to sneak in some quality time without too much stress or drama.  Our early morning flowed smoothly, and Kiddo and I held hands as we walked down our sleepy street.

Once the school bus pulled away, once we saw all those little hands wave good-bye at us through the tinted windows, a few us exchanged our usual morning chatter. Except today was a little different.

I’m so glad I saw people here at the bus stop. I wasn’t sure any of the kids were going to school today.

But it wasn’t a teacher work day? Spring break had long passed. Why wouldn’t they be going to school?

Well, the shooting…some kid threatened to do a Columbine at the school…

I was suddenly wide awake.

That mom saw something on Facebook last night, just another news thread or rumor flying through cyberspace faster than a speeding bullet.  I hadn’t seen anything yet. I’d been focusing on fixing breakfast and packing lunchboxes, tying shoes and sneaking in some snuggle time.

I hurried home, more curious than concerned. There was nothing on our local newspaper website. Ditto on a quick skim of the television news sites.  My TV screen just replayed footage of the space shuttle flying piggy-back on its final journey and local traffic snafus.  What shooting?

I finally found a snippet, a short one minute video, on some third-rate news site.

 Last fall, a student at our high school threatened to walk into the lunchroom and start randomly shooting. A fellow student told his parents about the threats, the parents called the cops, and the potential shooter was arrested. He said he’d been bullied as a freshman. He’d been inspired by Columbine. The attack was planned for three days before the Columbine anniversary. Today.

The 18-year-old was charged with attempted felony murder as well as written threats to kill or do bodily harm; he was booked at the county jail months before his diabolical plan could come true.  Perhaps that’s why I just glossed over the story — I didn’t hear about it until after he’d been arrested, after he’d been taken out of the picture, and the police swore our children would be safe and protected.

He was subsequently expelled.

However, this morning’s harried research unveiled that prosecutors decided not to charge him with a crime. They decided he never took steps to actually commit murder and they found no weapons or ammunition in his home. They also said that since his threats were not directed at anyone in particular, they did not rise to the level of a written threat.  His neighbor swore he was just an average boy-next-door, just another normal kid living in our quaint little suburbia.

That boy-next-door was arrested again in March for trespassing. He just walked into one of his old classrooms and took a seat. Such a simple act, yet the ease at which he could do it sends shivers down my spine.

He’s free now, today, the day of his proposed massacre.

I’m scared. No, whether rational or not, I’m terrified.

You see, my son’s elementary school is just across the street.

These things aren’t supposed to happen around here.  We bought our home a decade ago partially due to the prime school district, a vital consideration long  before we ever started trying for a child. The highly rated high school looks like a small community college campus, with sprawling brick buildings sheltered below mature oak trees. It’s nestled between a little white church and a shuttered sub shop.  Even with the recession, most of the cars in the student parking lot are far more luxurious than my own. It was supposed to be a good, safe school.

And today, my baby, my only child, will go about his day on his relatively open elementary school campus within spitting distance of this threat.  I’m tempted to go and eat lunch with him, so I can sit with my eyes glued to the cafeteria door, the unmanned door, that squeaky old metal door anyone could walk right through. Anyone. I  mapped out the exits in my mind — would it be better to dash for the restrooms or try and hide in the kitchen, cowering behind industrial cabinets, a la Jurassic Park? Would I shout to save all the children, put myself in harms way to shepherd them to safety, or would I just snatch my own child and scurry away? I’m not a hero; I’m just a mother desperately in love with her son. I don’t want these thoughts, they don’t belong in my protected little world, but I don’t know how to smother them.

After I hit the gym this morning, I just couldn’t stop myself: I cruised by the schools. Both campuses looked quiet and serene on this sunny morning.  Though another article I read said local police would be providing extra security today, I saw no hint of anything amiss.  The high school parking lot wasn’t full; how many parents kept their kids home today?  Stopped at the light between the two schools, I fought the urge to march into the front office and whisk my baby home to safety. How could I leave him there just yards from the scene of a potential massacre?  How easy would it be for the devil to march across the narrow street?

How much can we really protect our children?

Not five minutes ago I stepped out of the shower and heard sirens in the distance. It’s lunchtime. Panic welled within; I swallowed it back, bitter as bile. On the TV, smiling news anchors discussed gym memberships and doggie day cares. Nothing devastating could be going on two miles away, just feet from my baby, right? 

No one warns you about this kind of thing before you become a parent. The unthinkable. The unimaginable. When I finally see my baby dash off the bus this afternoon, relief will wash over me like a cool shower on a sweltering August day. I’ll be counting the hours.