The thing I remebered most clearly was what she wore. It always seemed like people only ever wore those conventional yellow rainjackets in the movies. Well, not this time. Mr. Evans was impossible to miss; a bright yellow blob standing under his covered designated parking area. The light over his parking space was out, so he was dimly lit from the adjacent fixtures and the ones attached to the apartment building.

I was pedaling down Aspen Road, back towards my house, since it was just about dark now. I usually take my time when I ride, since it’s my preferred way of winding down each day. Some time to think and reflect. Well today I was reflecting in all kinds of puddles. I swerved all afternoon to avoid them, and went slower than usual to not crash.

I was biking slowly past the 300-building when I saw him. He’d walked out from under the breezeway on the bottom floor garage, and into the drizzle. By the time he’d made it to the parking stall he came to a standstill just as I pedaled by, only a few feet away. Though his rainjacket’s hood was raised, there was still no question that this was Mr. Evans. I knew his frame and face and all, he’d taught me social studies all year long back in 7th grade.

He must not have heard me riding up towards him, since as he turned the key in the driver door lock, he quickly pulled a gun out from under his rain jacket, and now that I was much closer the spatter of red along the right side of his jeans was visible. It left me to wonder what was under his yellow outerwear. I didn’t wonder for very long before he turned and saw me; our eyes locking for a few very, very long seconds.

He broke into a sprint in my direction. Yelling at me as he ran: “Cecile, it’s not what it looks like, slow down and talk to me!”

My legs have never pedaled quite so hard before. At some point he gave up, Evans never was in very good shape. When I got home I was shaking, and when they’d asked I told my parents it was from the cold rain. I didn’t know how to tell them what I saw. Just then, the news channel interrupted a segment which was filling the living room with the latest election drama.

Kelly Pierce, the charming blond anchor whom my dad smiled a little warmly at anytime she was on screen, was not in a charming mood today. My heart and stomach sank as I figured out how to tell my folks what had just happened to me. The anchor lady was describing the scene of a shooting at the Havenbrook middle school reported just about an hour ago, as the Knight’s basketball game began.