Control

I woke up in the morning only to hear the news: no school today. KYW 1060 said the magic words: "All Philadelphia public and parochial schools are off." Cardinal Bevilacqua was a stingy bastard with those snow days, but he gave in that day.

But the excitement of my snow day was short-lived. I had to go to the dentist. The fucking dentist. My mom and I took off in our old Ford truck. I found later that my dad was mad at her for taking me through the inclement weather. It was just the dentist, and the weather was bad enough for Bevilacqua to cancel school. This was not the best day to get my teeth cleaned.

But we forged on, trekking across the frozen tundra of Northeast Philly. We safely arrived on the street of Dr. Solomon’s office. But, my mom at the wheel, we passed the office. She's not the best at driving in pressure situations. My mom turned the big wheel of the truck to make a U-turn and we spun out of control — driving up a hill. Another car coming down the hill slammed on the brakes, but it the street was too slick to stop. We got slammed and the big Ford truck met its ultimate fate. My mom took me to the hospital because I’d jammed my little feet into the floor of the truck when we were hit. I turned out fine, and better yet, I got to ride around the hospital in a wheelchair for a bit. (I’ve always secretly wished that I could have a wheelchair. They’re so damn convenient.)

But for that one moment when the truck spun out and the approaching car struggled to stop, time seemed to move in slow motion. It was the first time I’d experienced a complete loss of control. Our fate was in limbo for a few fleeting seconds. It was simultaneously strangely exhilarating and crushingly terrifying. But in the end, everything turned out fine.

Yesterday, that was not the case. I had no control over anything. Nobody did. And nothing turned out fine. I sat at my computer, constantly refreshing CNN.com, Fox News, ABC News, and Yahoo! News, just searching for answers that never came. The death toll just grew and grew. 20, 21, 22, 28, 31, 32, 33. I was confused and angry. It was unfair. My generation's already had its national tragedy. I can't handle another day like this.

But yesterday was different. It wasn’t like 9/11. On 9/11, I had no understanding of who was behind it all, what the implications were, or what it meant for our country. Yesterday, I knew that there was one man who just fucked with the lives of a bunch of anonymous college kids and their families. And I had no idea why.

College kids. On the cusp of greatness, their potential was taken away. As more details came out, I just got angrier and more frustrated at the whole situation. Why were these kids in class? Why weren’t they in the safety of their rooms? Why was a murderer able to roam the campus of Virginia Tech for two hours before finding another chance to strike? Why did Virginia Tech allow a man to kill 30 more people before taking his own life?

This wasn’t like that one day in high school when the only immediate result was that none of my classes involved anything more than watching TV or talking it over. I remember my 8th period class, in which my physics teacher Mr. Cipolla just had everyone sit down for 40 minutes. We just talked about it. On a superficial level, it did nothing. But it was comforting that he treated us like adults, and that in doing so we knew that he was probably more than a bit shaken by the whole situation too. But Cipolla remained cool, and we finished the school day without worries.

Yesterday, I knew that there was no realistic way we could have stopped what was coming. Basically, some lunatic with a couple guns had a bad day, the worst day ever. But the shootings were preventable, and I had no control over it. I like to think that people in a position of authority, no matter how incompetent, would never do anything to cause the senseless death of someone they look after. Even President Bush, in sending troops to Iraq, has a reason for causing soldiers to die. But there was no mission behind sending a class full of future engineers to die. They never had a chance. The image stuck in my head — 30 defenseless people trapped in a room with no exit, left to face a lunatic with two handguns. The last few killed had to sit and watch as 29 others died in front of their own eyes, not more than yards away from them.

There will be no FDNY or NYPD in the aftermath of the Virginia Tech Massacre. There’s no hope, no opportunity to salvage the lives of the 32 innocent people who were left to die. And to make things worse, there’s no enemy left. There can be no justice. The coward who put that classroom full of people into a living hell is dead, but there’s no vengeance. There’s no redemption. There are no answers. All we have is a body count and a university’s administration that refuses to take responsibility. In a struggle to find an enemy, the finger must be pointed at Virginia Tech.

We have no control over homicidal maniacs. They’re essentially random in our society. The people we depend on to protect us from these lunatics are our everyday heroes — the police officers, firefighters, philanthropists. Just three days after an unanswered bomb threat, Virginia Tech decided it was more important to get 30 engineers to their morning class than to save their lives. As many people spun out of control yesterday like that old Ford truck on the icy hill, Virginia Tech stood by and refused to use its control. They originally put the campus on lockdown, but lifted the lockdown soon after. Whether that first shooting was a domestic disputer or not, you can't let a campus run free with a murderer on the loose. The most frustrating thing about the whole situation is that it seems clear as day to me that those 30 people should not have been at class yesterday. And while I'm not convicting Virginia Tech of pulling those triggers, it's their fault the gunman had a target.

Hope Springs Eternal

I was home this past weekend, partially for Easter but mostly to partake in the world premiere of my silver screen debut in The Paper, a documentary about the 2004-2005 school year at the Daily Collegian. In case you're wondering, I'm on screen for up to five whole seconds. I have no speaking lines, but thanks to director Aaron Matthews, the glorious mane of hair I had that fall will be passed down to generations to come.

Though I was home to see the film, the most consequential news of the weekend came on Friday. Seemingly, it shouldn't have been consequential news, but it was. My mother told me that she thinks my beloved fox terrier, Scout, may be diabetic. I always hate it when people grieve over a pet; I love my dog and all, but crying about a pet's death always seemed so juvenile to me. After all, how much emotional attachment can you have with a being that can't speak to you or even comprehend half the feelings you have?

When my mom told me, I was just kind of shocked. Apparently, the dog drinks water like a camel, and as a consequence, constantly wants to go outside to relieve himself. I imagine it's an inconvenience, but beyond that, it doesn't seem like a big deal.

But later that night, I came home from DJ's house and my parents had gone to bed. I watched TV for a bit, and just before I went to bed, I looked over at Scout lying on the couch. I broke down. It's not so much that he might die, or get sicker, or anything like that. It's the possibility that this might happen while I'm away at school, and I won't be able to see him one last time before he goes. It's the complete helplessness of the situation, that I can't possibly do anything to change his fate, make him better, or keep him around just until I get home from school in May.

Seemingly, I should be more upset about the possibility that this could happen to my grandmother. Her health has rapidly declined in the past year, and the thought of the insane coincidence involved (one I've written about before — I've lost grandparents in 1995, 1999, and 2003, and it's now 2007) is mainly just eerie. But since I've been through this with grandparents three times now, and that the last time around, it was almost a foregone conclusion, perhaps I'm more ready for it. I'm not saying my Mom-Mom is going to die this year, but it seems odd to me that the thought of Scout dying is more devastating to me than losing her.

When I chose to attend Penn State, there were a number of reasons: it was a great campus, it had a real journalism program, and my then-girlfriend was going there. But the simplest reason was location, location, location. It was close enough that I could come home for a weekend if I wanted, but it was far enough that my parents wouldn't swing by for any surprise visits. In my fourth year up here, that's the reason that has held strongest. But there's a sacrifice to go along with that, one which I hadn't really considered back in 2003. I rarely see my life-long friends (or my high school friends, for that matter), I miss all the good shows in Philly, and I'm completely helpless in any grave situation at home. I don't know if this factors into my adamant insistence of staying in Philly for as long as possible after college, but it certainly bolsters that feeling.

If you take away the idea that my failure to graduate this spring is partially (if not wholly) my fault, I shouldn't feel any guilt over being away while my grandmother and dog decline in health. But I can't take that away. If I'd chosen a different school, if I'd made a clean break with Erin before college, if I'd gotten my shit together (or never gotten my shit separated), etc. There are plenty of reasons to blame myself, and now I'm just hoping Scout and Mom-Mom can hold out for another year. It's a lot to ask.

Well, fuck it. I can't do anything but ask. Not even Apples in Stereo and Wild Cherry Pepsi can cheer me up. Here's to eternal life.