My Name Is Aaron

Closure

(As Told By Leslie Smith, Victim's Girlfriend)  

First came the grief, the aching of their absence. Second came the confusion. It seemed like it didn't matter for a while, how he died or better yet, why.

But then everything changed. As the hospital drugs wore off, I found my mind a lot less accepting of his death. It didn't alter that I was trusting in God for comfort, but it did alter something. My anger. 

I learned through his family that the shot was intentional. As in, I-point-a-gun-in-your-face-and-pull-the-trigger intentional. It wasn't like me, when I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. He meant to kill Charlie.

And the saddest part was, the gunman probably looked at him in the eyes before murdering him, fully aware of what he was doing. And I say gunman because I find it hard to say Aaron Piltcher.

Aaron was a quiet kid that I had in my classes, who was really good at math and only friend was that alcohol-loving heathen, Carter Seth. Not a monster that senselessly murdered his classmates. Somehow putting that wedge between the two people made it easier to understand what happened that day.

As time rocked on, I learned many more things about the Greenwood shooting. Everyone wanted answers. A lot of kids started coming up with theories and stuff on why he did it. Trying to make sense of it all.

I'm not going to lie. I tried my hand at playing investigator, even though I wasn't near the end of my grieving. Thinking maybe if I received my answers, I'd finally be at peace. Though God knew differently. Don't look too far into it, my child He said one night during my breakdown. It will not solve what you believe it will.

But I couldn't live not knowing. At that point I felt as if it didn't matter what I discovered, I couldn't take another breath in the ignorance of my boyfriend's death. How someone could possible hate someone to the point of murder, someone I fell so desperately in love with.

I wished I had the courage to walk right up to the front steps of Mrs. Piltcher's house and bombard them with all of the questions that have dammed up inside my brain since the shooting.

But people had already beat me to the punch. Every time I drove past her house, people were at her welcome mat, angry and yelling, fists colliding with the taupe-painted door. Some actually were new's media employees. One day I stopped, my heart clenching at the hatred that grappled with these individuals.  

I don't remember what I yelled at them, but it made them reluctantly scramble. Through the window, I saw tired eyes peep through the blinds. Probably surprised to hear silence instead of screaming.

Staring at the house, I contemplated with a thought. Turning it over like a dice between my fingers. I felt like God urged me to go up there, which sounded like a horrible idea from the confines of my car. How could I mentally handle standing on the porch of my lover's murderer?

But I put one crutch in front of the other, migrating through the yard until I eventually stood on inches away from the door. Around me the sun was setting, casting dark shadows over the lawn. 

I didn't know what to say.

"Mrs. Piltcher?" No answer. But I knew she was there, on the other side of the two-inches of wood that separated us. Listening to my words with an eerie quiet.

"You probably don't know me but my boyfriend was one of the victims" my words came out with a harshness and I looked down, watching tears drip onto her welcome mat. "But I'm not here to yell at you and call you all the horrible names they did"

I took a deep breath.

"I'm here to tell you that I forgive you" I continued. My breath was ragged and I found every syllable lodged in my throat. What a strong word that is, forgive.

But then everything fell into place. God forgave me for what I had done in my past life and this was my opportunity to pass that on. To show love where most showed hate.

After that I didn't have anything else weighing heavy on my heart. I had said exactly what I'd been meaning to say since the beginning, even though I didn't know what that was. I kept honestly thinking that my need for answers was what I was after, when in reality it was my need to tell her I forgave her.

Or better yet, I forgave him.

I made my crippling attempt back to the car, only stopping when I saw something beside my foot. A small dandelion residing in the dirt patch of the walkway center. Charlie was proud of me.

And that was my closure.