The October sunlight strikes the Swarovski in my necklace,
and a multitude of brilliant rainbows instantly litter the interior of the car.

How was school today?
Good, she answers.

My preschooler in the backseat, clad in pink tulle and sneakers, eats Cheez-Its from a bag;
we are late for gymnastics. We are usually late for gymnastics.

Did anything exciting happen?
We’re going to have a lockdown drill, she answers.

Suddenly, there is a heavy pit in my stomach and epinephrine in my veins.
I merge onto the highway, the Hamilton soundtrack drifting from the speakers,
and debate how the fuck to process this news.

Oh?
Yes. Miss Amy said tomorrow, she answers.

When I think about firearms, my limbic system gets stuck in an endless loop of fight/flight/freeze/fold/fawn,
evolution addressing this threat to the survival of our species in the only way it knows how.
When I think about firearms, I think about Chekhov’s Gun.

What else did Miss Amy say?
She’s going to say “lockdown drill!” and then we go hide in the toy room.

I imagine my child hiding from an AR-15
among the teddy bears and baby dolls who occupy the school’s cramped corner closet;
then it takes several seconds to begin to breathe again, and I can barely see through the rage.

How do you feel about that?
I want to hide in the cubby instead. I can sit inside and be really quiet, she answers.

I picture the innocents in Uvalde and Sandy Hook, the mortal terror they endured.
I picture losing my precious child; I blink away the acid tears budding in my eyes.

I think you should just listen to Miss Amy. Can you be a good listener?
I want more Cheez-Its, she answers.

We pull into the parking lot, my daughter coated in orange Cheez-It dust,
and the world continues to spin; life goes on as if it is fucking normal for a five year-old
to be rehearsing for this avoidable carnage we seem to accept as inevitable. I ache for my country
for the briefest of moments; then we join the crowd inside, all of us just doing the best we can.

Shannon Frost Greenstein is the author of “The Wendigo of Wall Street,” a novella forthcoming with Emerge Literary Journal. Her work has appeared in McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, Pithead Chapel, WAS Quarterly, and elsewhere. Follow her at shannonfrostgreenstein.com or on Twitter and Bluesky at @ShannonFrostGre. Insta: @zarathustra_speaks