Forever Fourteen

 

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“I feel like things are getting out of hand and we’re not getting the help that we need from the schools or the teachers inside the school,” Steele said. “We have police there, we have teachers there, and we have all these people in place with titles, but the unfortunate has happened.” 

Steele said she would like to see more measures being taken place in the schools. 

“They do have the metal detectors in the school, but I would like a clear search of the bags of the property, not just looking for the phone, but the weapon that’s being used or maybe used in a fight or altercation,” Steele said. “I also would like to see a teacher monitoring the bathroom hall monitors. If you have police officers in the school, that’s your security and they should be in those halls.”

Shaurisha Steele

Before the Killeen School  Board

March 12, 2025

 

It was a warm afternoon. Winter abandons Texas in a rush as the cold air is exiled back up north where it belongs. The clock strikes four as she sits in her living room and the Alexa comes on just as it does every weekday playing “Maniac.” The air is still. No, not still, oppressive. Hard to breathe. Hard to take in. Rushing down a throat that is endlessly sore, but she doesn’t have a cold. She has cried for two days. Cried, screamed, and begged Jesus for a miracle.

 

She remembered Monday. How will she ever forget? She had just checked her daughter’s room and found the bed not made. She had resolved to give that young lady a good talking to when she gets home. Now that bed will never be made. By God THAT BED WILL NEVER BE MADE!

 

Her phone rang. It was the school. Still looking at the bed the person, being as tactful as possible tells her that there’s been an incident at school. Almost without thinking, she asks, “What now?” The words no parent should ever hear. There was a fight. She was hurt. She’s being taken to the hospital. Then the word, “Stabbed!”

 

And the world stopped turning. And she stared at the unmade bed. And the next words from the phone sounded distant, down a long hallway. And then it went away. She rushed to the car but where to go? The voice mentioned a hospital, but she couldn’t remember if it told her which one!  There are five or six hospitals within five miles and God knows how many ERs. How bad was her little girl hurt? Stabbed! In the arm? In the face? In the chest? And with what? A knife? A protractors pointy end? Is it deadly? She tries to start the car but can’t find her keys. She realizes they are in her hand and her heart is racing.

 

Slowly her hearing comes back but there is nothing to hear. Then the phone rings. It’s the hospital. A police officer. From the tone of his voice he didn’t have to say a word. She knew! She drops the phone and races into the house. Back to the room. Staring at the unmade bed she thinks that if she waits there has been a mistake. Some kind of miscommunication. That door will crash open soon and her baby will be telling her that some girl got hurt at school today and they sent everyone home.

 

But that was Monday, and today is Wednesday. And the house is crowded but she really doesn’t notice. Because she goes to the empty bedroom endlessly to stare at an unmade bed and remember a girl who is now forever fourteen!