What Remains

My baby brother’s name stung as it rang for the whole school to hear. Recognizing that I’d be next, I unconsciously held my breath, every second knowing my seventeen-year-old life would never be the same.

And the familiar, droning voice spoke again, “Vala Lee.”

The air pierced with it. Vala. Vala. Chosen. That’s what my name meant. Growing up, my parents always said phrases like, “Vala, God chose you for something special,” or, “You were chosen to be our daughter.” They made sure I knew its significance. That I was chosen.

Vala Lee. Chosen.

I was chosen to or told to, immediately report to our school’s gym with thirteen other seemingly unimportant names. Ironic, given my dislike for that particular place. But our names were not unimportant. When called out, all who listened knew what it meant. Knew what we were chosen for. I remember the deep exhale that came, as if I had been near the brink of suffocation with it. Heart pounding, fighting the tears that I knew I wanted to shed, and would eventually come, I listened to that voice; stale, filling the air of the cafeteria, finishing its mission.

The final five names rang out. Calling on two twin boys from my class, a sophomore girl, and two freshmen, a boy and a girl who immediately and quietly stood and began the short walk to our school’s gym. I stood too, but only after watching the others and feeling the quiet, piercing glances from Jamie and those around me who were still safely in their seats. Knowing their eyes would watch us until we were gone, I walked purposefully to the cafeteria door, the last to leave. I shut the door behind me and began the walk down the eerily quiet hallway toward the gym.

It’s funny the things that have stuck with me from that day. The strange details I seem to remember. I can’t recall how I physically could carry myself down the hallway, but I do remember the chipping, beige-colored paint peeling from the edges of brick along the wall. The hall smelled of pungent cleaning supplies, as if a mess had recently been cleaned during the now distant lunch hour. I remember the feeling of uncertainty my feet walked with, unsteady and unfamiliar, dragging heavily beneath me.

I had watched ahead of me as Sam and Lincoln walked silently hand in hand. Sam’s dark hair swung from her pony tail with every step they took. Steps in unison with hers, Lincoln seemed to continuously glance toward Sam as he led her to their destination. Watching them made me wish I had someone walking along beside me, if only to help hold me up the rest of the way. I remember the look of the faces of the other thirteen students nervously glancing at me as I entered the gymnasium last, and alone.