As a period of unrest and conflict plagues our country, the topic of gun violence still remains incredibly prevalent. It seems to be such a distant topic before it happens in our community, city, neighborhood, and to our family and friends. On October 25, in Lewiston, Maine, the deadliest mass shooting in Maine’s history occurred where a man killed 18 people and wounded 13 at a restaurant and bowling alley on October 25. Just recently, a shooting at Worcester State University took the life of 19 year old Randy Armando Melendez Jr. And just this week, former North High School student and basketball athlete Carl-Hens Beliard was tragically shot in his car in Salem.
And at our own school, we have peers that have experienced or witnessed gun violence personally. This speech by Natalie Wamback illustrates this powerful and terrible experience.
– Rania Amallah, Opinion Editor
In a moment of pure anger, frustration, and borderline hate, your hand reaches for that little metal trigger. In a split second decision, a single action is decided. There on the floor, your friend is turned victim. You watch the way the bullet travels right through them, but it doesn’t stop there. Sirens fill the air as the one good decision is made through a desperate plea for help with a dispatcher – one who considers the situation her “job description.”
“We need to figure out where the bullet traveled. If it hits a major artery, she’s gone,” a doctor says, as most of his energy is going two inches deep in your friend’s chest with the rhythm to “Staying Alive” by the Bee Gees.
Hospital doors burst open, and feet first the victim goes in, left in the care of professionals to find where the bullet traveled.
An OR is cleaned out, surgeons scrub in, new medical attendees beg to be in the room to witness this surgery, and after a grueling 3 hours, a doctor hangs his head and says, ““Time of Death, 7:41pm.”
Friends and family wait anxiously as a nurse comes out. Her shaky voice tells them everything they have to know.
Her voice trails in and out, the “I’m so sorry…” ringing in and out of your ears until you finally pick back up on “the way the bullet traveled, there was too much damage to a major artery, and she died from loss of blood.”
The way the bullet traveled she says. What way did it travel? If you ask a medical professional they’ll tell you what way it traveled through her body.
But what about that 7 year old granddaughter that the bullet reached? What about the son of the mother who just passed? The bullet reached them too. What about the entire family tree living all across America? The friends, acquaintances, and coworkers whose days, weeks, and mental health the bullet has also destroyed.
The truth about the bullet is that it never stops traveling. You never lose the feeling of knowing your loved one is gone. You never get past a holiday without thinking about them. The bullet never stops traveling. And from someone who knows gun violence in her family, even though the bullet can be taken out, the wound will never close.
