It’s been a few years now since the television news was filled with reports out of Roswell, over 100 miles southwest of here.
There was a shooting at a middle school there.
A 12 year old brought a shotgun to school then shot and badly wounded some classmates: A 12 year old boy and a 13 year old girl.
When I heard about this my mind went back many years ago to when I was in junior high school...and I remember Kevin*.
Kevin is dead now. He died in the early 1980's, a bullet right between the eyes. I never knew if he was shot by someone or if he shot himself. His parents who lived across the street from our family never told anyone the full details of his death. They just buried him at their old hometown cemetery near the Chesapeake Bay and brought his dog home to live with them.
I remember Kevin because I saw firsthand how bullying can change someone.
Kevin showed up in our neighborhood when I was in 7th grade
Back then, in my boy's mind I came to realize I was glad Kevin showed up. Where once I had been the target of bullying and practical jokes, the focus switched to Kevin.
Kevin was brainy, liked to enunciate his words so it sounded like he had a weird accent…he liked to use little-used words in his talk and asked a lot of questions why 7th graders did the things they did. For a while he was my friend...until he took a general dislike to practically everyone.
I can't remember all the things Kevin endured but he took the brunt of the stuff when I moved away from the old home town. My dad took a job up north a few months after Kevin came to the neighborhood.. When we came back over a year later Kevin was not the smiling, inquisitive kid I used to know. He had become dark, brooding and didn’t say much.
One night there was a knock on my door. It was two detectives from the city police department. They wanted to know if I knew anything about Kevin's house being egged.
I did not.
The detectives mentioned a couple of names: Dax and Lou….had I heard them talking about egging or planning to egg Kevin's house?
Dax and Lou were friends, but they liked to play practical jokes, usually with a mean twist. Like I mentioned, I had been their target...these days it was Kevin.
"Because you see, boy," said one detective, "In our state the hurling of an object at a person, vehicle or house is a felony under the 'missile' law."
The detectives left.
I doubt the egging would’ve gotten any attention if it hadn’t been for Kevin’s dad working for the city government.
Some time later Kevin came over to my house.
"I want to show you something," said Kevin in his clipped speech.
We walked back across the street to his place and walked behind the house.
There in the backyard were two deep, rectangular holes.
"Those look like graves," I said.
"They are," said Kevin, "Those are graves for Dax and Lou. Come to my room."
We went into his house. His parents and sister were out.
We went into his room.
He pulled a rifle from under his bed.
"I'm going to kill Dax and Lou with this," he said.
I just stared at the rifle, then I looked Kevin in the eyes.
"You don't need to kill them," I said.
There were moments of silence as Kevin and I looked each other in the eyes.
"You'll get in a lot of trouble," I said.
He put the rifle back under his bed.
"You can go now," said Kevin.
Kevin never did shoot Dax or Lou. He covered up the "graves" in his backyard.
As an old guy I wonder why his parents let him dig those holes in the backyard in the first place.
As an old guy I wonder why I didn't tell someone. Probably because I didn't want Kevin to shoot me.
The last time I spoke to Kevin was that day in May 1972 when George Wallace was shot. Kevin was a big fan of George Wallace.
I was sitting on my grandmother’s back porch when I saw Kevin walking down the street smoking a cigarette.
"Hey Kevin," I called out to him. "Did you hear George Wallace got shot?'
He stopped and looked at me.
"That's sad," said Kevin.
"I think he's just wounded," I said.
He turned and walked away.
For the rest of our school years Kevin hung around with a different bunch of kids. If we encountered each other we acted as if we were strangers, like we had never been friends. We graduated, I went to college, he joined the military.
And then years later came the news that he was dead.
I don't know what to make of it all.
But when I hear news about a shooting at a junior high or middle school I remember Kevin.
And I wonder....
-30-
*Names changed…
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