I Found This Out Recently
A girl named Maggie once lived on campus here at Kalamazoo. She lived in Trowbridge, the same dorm I lived in last year. She had friends and parents and a boyfriend, for a little while anyway. I don't know how long they were together. But they broke up, and maybe it wasn't a clean break, I don't really know that part of the story, but they broke up. And one day she went to her ex-boyfriends room, and he pulled out a gun. He must have been in front of the door, because she ran into the bathroom, trying to get to the room on the other side. She didn't make it. He then shot himself. They had to put a mattress in front of the door to keep the blood from spilling into the hall. That's what I heard anyway.
Ten years later I moved into that room behind the closed door, the one that could have stopped a bullet from killing a young girl, if only she had made it in time. I doubt my suite mates know what room they are living in, and I certainly won't tell them. No one actually died in my room, because on my half of the door was the side of salvation. So I guess I'm ok with where I am right now, but my suite mates would probably be a little freaked out. I don't know how I feel about it. It's a little weird to know that every time I use my bathroom I'm entering a past crime scene. I'm sad I guess. I didn't know her, but ten years ago she was just like me. And I hate thinking about what it must have been like for the person who lived in my room. To hear two gun shots and then open the door to find...
I don't know. I'm not freaked out. It's just... weird.
Ten years later I moved into that room behind the closed door, the one that could have stopped a bullet from killing a young girl, if only she had made it in time. I doubt my suite mates know what room they are living in, and I certainly won't tell them. No one actually died in my room, because on my half of the door was the side of salvation. So I guess I'm ok with where I am right now, but my suite mates would probably be a little freaked out. I don't know how I feel about it. It's a little weird to know that every time I use my bathroom I'm entering a past crime scene. I'm sad I guess. I didn't know her, but ten years ago she was just like me. And I hate thinking about what it must have been like for the person who lived in my room. To hear two gun shots and then open the door to find...
I don't know. I'm not freaked out. It's just... weird.