Archives:
February 4-February 10, 2007
February 4, 2007
“So our friend here wanted to save the day,” Rush says as I have a seat on the ground, my hands still up in the air.
It had occurred to me more than once over the last 24 hours that I might be able to come to the rescue. After all, it's just one man holding all of these people. If I came at him from behind, I probably could have gotten him down and knocked the gun away. If anyone came to help me, I have every confidence it could have worked.
But then there's the bomb.
He's got it strapped to his chest, wrapped in something like a potato sack. For all I know—for all anyone knows—he could be bluffing about it. But as long as there's the chance he's telling the truth, I couldn't bring myself to take that chance.
In my mind, I curse Sam for even suggesting that I hang around Vanderberry while Rush holds it hostage. We're going on a full day in the building, and I've been watching, taking pictures with my phone, waiting for something to happen. Rush has gone on his little tirades here and there, and I've jotted down a few quotes. It's hardly been worth the effort, though.
And then he caught me.
If I had felt the sneeze coming, I would have done my best to get away, and stifle it. It just came out, though, and Rush heard it. He found me easily enough—I couldn't move once he was looking for me. Ironically enough, he found me crouched behind a newspaper stand.
And so I have become hostage number 28. Across the way, Emma and I make eye contact. I'm more embarrassed than anything, and look away.
“All right,” Rush says. “I'd say this has gone on long enough, wouldn't you?” He stands by me, putting the gun in my face again. “Give me your phone.”
Reluctantly, I hand it over. Rush has been on the phone for the half the time we've been here, exhausting the battery on his phone and one of his hostages'.
“Yes, Officer McGrady,” he says, turning from me, walking back to the center of the lobby space where he's keeping us all. He's a pretty scrawny guy. I wonder if I jumped him, and I pinned his arms back, if he'd even be able to detonate. “I'm getting tired of waiting for Lambert to make his decision. Tell him he's got 15 minutes before I kill the first hostage.”
Most of the hostages had stopped crying hours ago. Across the way, I see Claire start up again. Emma swallows, eyes fixed on Rush now.
Rush steps behind me, outside the circle. “No, I'm not reconsidering that,” he says. “The ball's in your court now.”
I hear a slamming sound behind me, then the phone hitting the ground. I turn, and can hardly believe my eyes. I see a large, bald Latino man with Rush slumped in his arms. There's something strangely familiar about him, but I can't place him.
Carefully, he lays Rush down on his back, then picks up the phone. “Officer, Tim Rush has been incapacitated. Please come in here and give us a hand.”February 5, 2007
“But it's the weirdest thing,” I say, taking a bite of my bean burrito as I sit with Teri at the center table of the Window office. “Because I could swear that I saw this guy before.”
“You shouldn't talk with your mouth full,” she says, sipping water through her straw.
I look at her, wiping my mouth off with a napkin. “Anyway, I just can't place him, but I know I've seen him before.”
“Well, he lives in the area, right?” she asks. “You've probably run into him on the street. Maybe he goes to the same gas station as you or something.”
“Yeah, I guess.” I shake my head, still looking at a print out of Rod Estrada's picture.
I suppose we'll all be seeing a lot of Rod in the days to come, as he becomes a local hero. Sam talked to him, alongside all of the professional news media, while I was still caught up with the police. Rod said that he was sitting at home, watching the hostage situation unfold on TV like everyone else, and then decided to get up and do something about it. He had completed one semester at Taylor College two years before, and knew his way around Vanderberry. He came in through a back door and decked Tim Rush with one punch carefully catching him so the supposed bomb wouldn't go off.
There was no bomb—just a book bag wrapped up in fabric. It also turns out that Rush was firing blanks from the gun. He will be put on trial, and it seems fairly certain he's going to prison.
Rod, meanwhile, is a hero—the courageous townie who saved the day. I still can't place the guy.
“So tell me something,” Teri says, looking down at the table. “When you decided to stay, was it really for the sake of the story?”
“What, you think I was staying there for fun?” I ask, wiping my mouth with a napkin. “I'll tell you, though, I never should have listened to Sam. I should have gotten out there from the beginning.”
“Okay.”
“What are you getting at?” I ask, before taking another bite.
“I was just wondering if you would have stayed if The Off Beats hadn't been there.”
I'm careful to finish chewing before I respond, “And what is that supposed to mean?”
“I don't know, Preston .” She gets up, gathering the remains of her lunch and carrying it to the trash. “I've gotta get to class. I'll talk to you later.”February 6, 2007
"Presto, you get jumped, you get held hostage—I'm starting to think this school of yours isn't safe," Matt says over the phone.
"You may be right. But anyway, I'm trying to piece together a story on the guy who held us hostage, and another one on Rod—this guy who saved us. And I'm telling you, I could swear that I know this guy from somewhere," I say. "And on top of all that, I've got Teri mad at me for no reason."
"Well was she right?"
"What?"
"Was she right? Did you stay back because Emma—or because Emma and Veronica were there?"
"I told you, I stayed to cover the story," I say, making my way out of the Student Center , headed to class.
"So there was no part of you that thought about doing something heroic for the girls."
"I thought about it, like anyone would. But the guy said he had a bomb. I wasn't going to mess with that." I say, waving to Dave across the way, smoking with the guys from the band. "Besides, whose side are you on?"
"Just playing devil's advocate. At the least, you were in a dangerous situation with Emma and Veronica, not with Teri. Of course she's going to feel a little jealous."
"Jealous of them for being held hostage?"
"Jealous of them because that's a fucking weird situation, and you went through it together. And in Teri's mind, that's something that they're always going to have over her."
"Girls can be pretty fucked up."
“Preaching to the choir, brother Preston .”February 7, 2007
“I'm not gonna lie, this photo is pretty shitty.”
“I took it with the camera on my phone,” I shrug, standing over Sam's shoulder as he looks over a print out of my section. I gave it to him now, in the early afternoon, to get a second opinion on the layout. It's a very photo intensive section, featuring the festival, but of course the biggest story has become Tim Rush and hero of the week, Rod.
“Maybe we should trade this off from the front—push it to the second page.”
“I say we axe the photo altogether.”
“Exclusive photo from inside a hostage situation? You have to run something like that.” Sam rubs his chin. “Maybe put the two stories under one headline—‘The best of times and worst of times: Festival nearly turns to tragedy when terrorist takes hostages.'”
“Tragedy? The guy was firing blanks and had a book bag strapped to his chest. And if the police in Butterton were competent, they probably would have taken him out in a couple hours.”
“But most people don't know that, so it's still a valid headline. Let the article tell the truth. The buzz on the street is still that a bomber had that building under siege.”
“And you want to call him a terrorist? The guy was calling for a more fair financial aid policy.”
“Doesn't matter what the goal is—someone who threatens mass violence to achieve any sort of goal is a terrorist.”
I look back down at the layout. “We'll work with it.”
“So how are things with you and Teri?
“What do you know about me and Teri?”
“Not a lot, that's why I'm asking.”
“But did she say something?”
Sam smiles. “Let's just say that it's not too hard to tell when you guys aren't at your best.” He looks over, grabbing another sheet of paper. “You see this? Probably worth covering.”
I take it from him. The headline reads “Ceremony to honor local hero Rod Estrada this Friday.”February 8, 2007
Teri and I walk along the road toward her apartment in silence, even the sound of our steps muffled in the snow falling around us. It's 3 a.m. , the end of a long night in The Window office, full of shuffling not only my own layout, but layout in other sections to accommodate coverage of everything that happened Groundhog's Day and the day after.
We didn't talk much all night, which was unusual, because even before we got together Teri and I would chat or joke around a lot each Wednesday night. It's stranger yet, because it's not even like we got into a full-blown fight.
I think that I'll kiss her good night when we get there, and let that speak as whatever apology need be said. Then I'll just hope we can move on from there. It's not as though I really think I have anything to be sorry for anyway. But at this point, I'm ready to let that go just to get us back to where we were.
Of course, there's another part of me thinking I shouldn't just let it go. If anything, she's the one in the wrong, getting jealous for no reason. Why would I even think about putting my life on the line for Emma or Veronica, when the two of them won't even give me the time of day. I've been better off without them, and Teri's the proof—or she should be.
I remember when I made eye contact with Emma after Rush caught me, and sat me down with the rest of the hostages. I think she was surprised to see me, and I was a little embarrassed at having been caught. But there was something else. Maybe I only imagined it, but there was a certain recognition there. It was like, if we were going to be there, maybe even going to die, it fit that we would be together.
Thinking about it now, it doesn't make a lot of sense. Maybe it's just one of those things you feel when you're in the middle of a moment like that. I feel a little guilty about it.
I snowballs smacks against my arm. I turn to face Teri, and she giggles. “You didn't notice a thing until that hit you.”
“Guess my mind was elsewhere.”
She sort of smiles. “Look, I'm sorry.”
I nod, reaching out my hand.February 9, 2007
“In this day and age, it's difficult to crown anyone a hero,” President Lambert says. “It seems that people only do good when it is convenient for them to do so, or when there is no risk, or there are great rewards. Today, we come together to celebrate a man who stood up for a group of innocents victims when there was nothing in it for him, and when he had everything—his very life—to lose.”
It's impressive to see how many people turned out for this event, in Simmerman Auditorium. There's press all around, but beyond that, there's a pretty good number of students, and even more townies—folks who are proud to claim the honoree of today's proceedings as one of their own, and not a part of the college.
“Today, we come together to celebrate, Rod Estrada!” Lambert finishes with a flourish swinging his arm to Rod, who stands and shakes his hand at the podium, then waves at the crowd as they give him a standing ovation.
“Rod,” Lambert goes on, “I present you with this medal on behalf of the entire Taylor College community, as a symbol of appreciation for your selfless courage.” Another administrator puts the medal on him, over Rod's dipped head. Beside me, Teri snaps a photo. As press, we got a spot nice and close to the stage.
“Well, I'm not sure what to say,” Rod says into the mic. “I'm usually a man of few words.”
“Flex for us, Rod!” a guy's voice yells out, clearly a friend of his. The crowd laughs, and Rod chuckles, shrugs, then takes off his blazer to a lot of cheering. He drops his arms, wearing a short-sleeved dress shirt, then turns his arms up, flexing his biceps.
In the second that his arms are down, I can see his forearm. He has a tattoo of a blue dragon.
I know I've seen the dragon before.
I remember seeing it in lights, hanging overhead. No—that was a dream. That was when I was in the coma. Yes, I remember that—I was in a ballroom for that part of the dream, and the neon blue dragon hung over me.
Rod was in the dream too. That's where I know him from.
But how could I only know him from a dream?
And why was he chasing me in the dream?
On stage, Rod shrugs, putting the blazer back on, and going on with his speech.
I remember. “Are you Preston ?” I remember him asking me. Then he decked me, pounding me on the pavement as I tried to cover up.
I have no idea why he did it. I don't think I ever saw him before that night, but it was definitely him. I look all around, as if someone else should recognize this fact. But it's only me. I'm starting to feel really warm.
Teri sits beside me, still snapping pictures.
“One thing I will say,” Rod goes on, “is that everyone deserves a second chance. I feel very honored that have had this chance to be a hero at Taylor , even after I found that this wasn't the place for me. But besides that, I would like to speak on behalf of one of my friends. His name is Larry Scmidt, and he made a number of mistakes in years past. My friend, Larry Schmidt, is currently petitioning to the college to allow him to re-enroll. In the spirit of second chances, I would encourage all of you to join me in speaking out on his behalf, sending your letters and calls to Dr. Lambert,” he says, gesturing behind him to the president, as the crowd laughs, “to demonstrate that you, too, believe that people can become good again, and make the best of their circumstances.” Rod smiles. “I think that's all I have to say. Thank you all again.”
The crowd erupts into applause, as I look on in disbelief.February 10, 2006
So the biggest hero in town is the one who put you in a coma?” Chang asks, as we sit in the common room this morning.
I told Teri what I knew the night before, but my mind was going in countless directions, and, in the end, I cut our night short, and went home alone early. Waking this morning, I'm feeling a little less overwhelmed, but no more clear on what I should do.
“Are you sure it was him?” Mike asks. “I mean, could seeing him have just reminded you of what the actual dude looked like—a big, Latino dude?”
I shake my head. “I knew I had seen him before. And it was his tattoo that made it all real.” I raise my forearm and move my hand over it. “He has a blue dragon on his forearm—I know it was him.”
“So it sounds like it's time to go to cops,” Dave says, taking a bite from a bagel. “Put an end to the hero thing—bring the bastard to justice.”
Chang nods. “No sense in putting it off.”
“I just don't know if they'd believe me, or how people are going to react to me accusing him.”
“But what he said about Larry—your old editor—that's the clincher,” Dave says. “You were the one who figured out his part in that whole rape scandal. It makes sense he'd want to come after you.”
“Yeah,” I say, but I still don't feel sure.