le 6 décembre 1989
It's the point in the semester when nerves start to fray and tempers snap, as classes wind down and exams start up.
After three fights about who needs to study and who wants to watch TV, the apartment has been (by more or less mutual consent) declared to be a noise-free zone. No television, music with headphones only, conversation in hushed tones or behind closed doors, please. Meg, over her objections, has been put in charge of making her roommates follow the rules, as she is the one who seems least likely to cave.
Like on Wednesday evening, when Olivia makes the argument that she could study for her French final by watching television in French. Instead, Meg "hides" the TV remote in a drawer in the kitchen and offers to help her study for the oral portion of her exam. They take over the table, and Carrie lies sprawled on the sofa, rereading Chaucer.
It's a few minutes after 5:30 when the phone rings, interrupting Meg and Olivia's conversation -- en français, bien sûr -- about what to have for dinner. Carrie, who is the closest, answers it, Olivia and Meg falling silent and turning to see who it's for. "Hello?" Carrie says, followed quickly by, "No, Mom, I'm fine." She rolls her eyes a little at her roommates, and they turn back to their studies. "Of course I'm fine, why wouldn't I . . . what?"
Meg breaks off midsentence and looks at Carrie.
"What?" Carrie asks, again, and then, "Oh my God. Meg, turn the television on."
"Why?"
"There's been some kind of -- just do it, please," Carrie says.
Olivia gets the remote out of the drawer and turns the TV on from the kitchen.
The picture on the screen is one of chaos -- flashing lights and paramedics, police and frantic activity, people standing around in the cold. Carrie hangs up the phone and the three of them sit in a row on the couch, watching in silence.
It's the disjointed reporting of breaking news, facts changing as soon as they're reported. A gunman, maybe more than one . . . and a rampage at the École Polytechnique de Montréal . . . classes, classrooms . . . just after five . . . engineering students . . . police . . . wounded . . . dead . . .
Meg doesn't even realize Olivia has taken her and Carrie's hands until the phone rings again, and the noise is like the breaking of some kind of spell. Carrie, still the closest to the phone, answers it, and then passes it to Meg with the words, "Your father."
"I'm okay, Dad," Meg says, as a greeting, standing and moving a little way away from the couch.
She can hear the sigh of relief. "Good," he says. "Sorry. We knew that you were probably, Megkin, but your mother and I . . . "
"I know," Meg says. "Carrie's mom called, too."
"It's what parents do," John says. There's a slight pause. "Do you know anyone there, Meg?"
"I . . ." Meg trails off. She hasn't thought in those terms yet -- that this is all happening here and now, right now, in Montreal. "I do," she says, slightly stunned by the realization. "Oh, God, I do. Alain has a cousin, Maryse, who works there. In the library, I think. And, um, Nathalie, Luc's girlfriend, her brother, Georges, is a student there . . ."
They're not people she knows well -- she met Maryse last Christmas, she's seen Georges a handful of times at larger gatherings -- but they're people she knows. And, of course, Alain and Luc and Nathalie are all people she knows well.
"I have to go," Meg says, abruptly. I'm sorry, Dad, but I have to call Alain."
"Of course," John says. "We'll talk to you soon. We love you."
"I love you, too," Meg says, and hangs up.
Alain answers on the first ring. "Allo?" It's rushed, clipped, expectant.
"It's Meg."
"You're all right?" Alain asks.
"Yes. You?"
"Yes. So is Maryse. She left work at three with a headache. Maman woke her up when she called. She's fine."
"Oh, thank God. Georges?"
"We don't know yet. Luc is on his way to Nathalie's. He'll call when he knows something. I can't talk right now, Meg. I'll call you when I hear from Luc."
"Thank you," Meg says.
"Bien sûr," Alain says. "À bientôt."
He hangs up before Meg can reply. Meg hands the phone to Olivia. "Call your parents," she says.
It's the pattern of the entire evening -- Meg loses count of the short, hurried phone calls in and out of the apartment -- Kim, Carrie's sister, classmates and friends from high school. Have you heard? Are you watching? Are you all right? and I'm fine, don't worry, I can't talk long.
Alain calls at seven to say that Georges is safe, though he doesn't know much more than that.
When she's not on the phone, Meg watches the story come together, on the television, broadcasting from a location she could walk to, if she wanted to. She watches, and she prays, and occasionally she wonders when she's going to wake up.
Because Meghan Margaret Ford has been to the end of the universe and back. She's talked to angels, danced at a vampire's prom, called a demon safe at home, played cards with a man who returned from hell . . . and nothing, nothing has felt more strange and less real than this evening.
Eventually all the pieces come together.
A little past 5:00, on the last day of classes at the École Polytechnique de Montréal, a single gunman entered the building. He had a rifle. He went into classrooms and down hallways, separating the men from the women, targeting the "feminists." Students thought it was joke, at first. Because how could it be real?
This sort of thing isn't supposed to happen here.
It lasted twenty-some minutes. Not even the time it takes to watch a sitcom. Or get your nails done. Or play a card game.
And when it was over, fourteen women were dead. Another fourteen others, mostly women, were wounded.
Students. Just students. Sitting in class.
Meg sits at stares at the television until very late, sitting on Olivia's left, holding her hand.
And trying to make it all feel real.
After three fights about who needs to study and who wants to watch TV, the apartment has been (by more or less mutual consent) declared to be a noise-free zone. No television, music with headphones only, conversation in hushed tones or behind closed doors, please. Meg, over her objections, has been put in charge of making her roommates follow the rules, as she is the one who seems least likely to cave.
Like on Wednesday evening, when Olivia makes the argument that she could study for her French final by watching television in French. Instead, Meg "hides" the TV remote in a drawer in the kitchen and offers to help her study for the oral portion of her exam. They take over the table, and Carrie lies sprawled on the sofa, rereading Chaucer.
It's a few minutes after 5:30 when the phone rings, interrupting Meg and Olivia's conversation -- en français, bien sûr -- about what to have for dinner. Carrie, who is the closest, answers it, Olivia and Meg falling silent and turning to see who it's for. "Hello?" Carrie says, followed quickly by, "No, Mom, I'm fine." She rolls her eyes a little at her roommates, and they turn back to their studies. "Of course I'm fine, why wouldn't I . . . what?"
Meg breaks off midsentence and looks at Carrie.
"What?" Carrie asks, again, and then, "Oh my God. Meg, turn the television on."
"Why?"
"There's been some kind of -- just do it, please," Carrie says.
Olivia gets the remote out of the drawer and turns the TV on from the kitchen.
The picture on the screen is one of chaos -- flashing lights and paramedics, police and frantic activity, people standing around in the cold. Carrie hangs up the phone and the three of them sit in a row on the couch, watching in silence.
It's the disjointed reporting of breaking news, facts changing as soon as they're reported. A gunman, maybe more than one . . . and a rampage at the École Polytechnique de Montréal . . . classes, classrooms . . . just after five . . . engineering students . . . police . . . wounded . . . dead . . .
Meg doesn't even realize Olivia has taken her and Carrie's hands until the phone rings again, and the noise is like the breaking of some kind of spell. Carrie, still the closest to the phone, answers it, and then passes it to Meg with the words, "Your father."
"I'm okay, Dad," Meg says, as a greeting, standing and moving a little way away from the couch.
She can hear the sigh of relief. "Good," he says. "Sorry. We knew that you were probably, Megkin, but your mother and I . . . "
"I know," Meg says. "Carrie's mom called, too."
"It's what parents do," John says. There's a slight pause. "Do you know anyone there, Meg?"
"I . . ." Meg trails off. She hasn't thought in those terms yet -- that this is all happening here and now, right now, in Montreal. "I do," she says, slightly stunned by the realization. "Oh, God, I do. Alain has a cousin, Maryse, who works there. In the library, I think. And, um, Nathalie, Luc's girlfriend, her brother, Georges, is a student there . . ."
They're not people she knows well -- she met Maryse last Christmas, she's seen Georges a handful of times at larger gatherings -- but they're people she knows. And, of course, Alain and Luc and Nathalie are all people she knows well.
"I have to go," Meg says, abruptly. I'm sorry, Dad, but I have to call Alain."
"Of course," John says. "We'll talk to you soon. We love you."
"I love you, too," Meg says, and hangs up.
Alain answers on the first ring. "Allo?" It's rushed, clipped, expectant.
"It's Meg."
"You're all right?" Alain asks.
"Yes. You?"
"Yes. So is Maryse. She left work at three with a headache. Maman woke her up when she called. She's fine."
"Oh, thank God. Georges?"
"We don't know yet. Luc is on his way to Nathalie's. He'll call when he knows something. I can't talk right now, Meg. I'll call you when I hear from Luc."
"Thank you," Meg says.
"Bien sûr," Alain says. "À bientôt."
He hangs up before Meg can reply. Meg hands the phone to Olivia. "Call your parents," she says.
It's the pattern of the entire evening -- Meg loses count of the short, hurried phone calls in and out of the apartment -- Kim, Carrie's sister, classmates and friends from high school. Have you heard? Are you watching? Are you all right? and I'm fine, don't worry, I can't talk long.
Alain calls at seven to say that Georges is safe, though he doesn't know much more than that.
When she's not on the phone, Meg watches the story come together, on the television, broadcasting from a location she could walk to, if she wanted to. She watches, and she prays, and occasionally she wonders when she's going to wake up.
Because Meghan Margaret Ford has been to the end of the universe and back. She's talked to angels, danced at a vampire's prom, called a demon safe at home, played cards with a man who returned from hell . . . and nothing, nothing has felt more strange and less real than this evening.
Eventually all the pieces come together.
A little past 5:00, on the last day of classes at the École Polytechnique de Montréal, a single gunman entered the building. He had a rifle. He went into classrooms and down hallways, separating the men from the women, targeting the "feminists." Students thought it was joke, at first. Because how could it be real?
This sort of thing isn't supposed to happen here.
It lasted twenty-some minutes. Not even the time it takes to watch a sitcom. Or get your nails done. Or play a card game.
And when it was over, fourteen women were dead. Another fourteen others, mostly women, were wounded.
Students. Just students. Sitting in class.
Meg sits at stares at the television until very late, sitting on Olivia's left, holding her hand.
And trying to make it all feel real.