Today, we walked out

Today, we walked out.

At 10am, half of the school turned silent, the other half turning to hushed whispers in an instinctive understanding of respect --respect for those turned silent, and respect for those silenced, those we honored.

A conglomerate of coats and poster board, of children, teenagers, and teachers, we filed out onto a sidewalk that was slightly too small, on a March Wednesday that was a bit too cold for Maryland, and braved a wind that was more characteristic of Chicago than Silver Spring.

Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. The raised voices, shrill squeals, and constant calls for walking in the halls, from just five minutes before, had been exchanged for a silent power; and, for many of us, an overpowering silence, a reminder of the silent schools, silent for the voices wrenched from them. A reminder, too, for how quickly our voices could be silenced.

We stood on the sidewalk for 17 minutes, shivering, as students held posters for passersby to read. Students exchanged signs, allowing each other a brief repose during which to hide their frozen fingers in their coat pockets. Parents took pictures. Cars, buses, and school buses drove by, their horns a validation of our protest, an honor to our power. And still we stood, silent, aware that our actions, however small, remained just that --actions.

"The names of the deceased," a voice began, gentle yet jarring in the midst of silence. "Alyssa Alhadeff," the list began. We closed our eyes and bowed our heads as the names echoed through us; through the silence, through the souls, through the students standing on a small sidewalk outside of a school; through the silence reverberating throughout the country, hoping to make enough waves to awaken the rest of our home.

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