Friday was supposed to be an amazing night for my friends and me. We were ushering in a friend’s 20th birthday with a movie about one of her favorite superheroes: Batman. After some pre-movie socializing, we left for Century 16.
That Century 16.
If I had created a Top 10 list of things that could never happen at the premiere of The Dark Knight Rises, surviving a mass shooting would probably have been at the top.
Ironically, the day of the shooting, I received my active shooter certification, which prepares people to handle a possible shooting incident, as part of my training to become a Resident Assistant at my university next semester.
Never would I have thought I’d have to use my training that very same day.
We arrived to the movie with about 45 minutes to spare so we could get good seats, but there were plenty with the same idea, and we walked, hands full of popcorn and snacks, into a packed theater. After scoping out Theater 9, we realized the only row with six open seats available was third from the front.
The previews started and our group whispered about what looked good and what looked like it would suck — the usual preview banter between friends. And then, the movie started.
Cheers filled the theater as plenty of Batman nerds, including myself, could not contain their excitement. We knew what awaited us. Or so we thought.
Ten minutes into the movie, I noticed the emergency exit closest to us open and a man dressed head-to-toe in black full body armor walking through it. I thought it was some kind of gimmick. Some jerk was going to show up with fake weapons and some man in a Batman suit would follow, have a fake fight and save the day.
But Batman never came.
The man looked at the crowd as if what was about to happen was everything he wanted. I tried to look at his face, but all I saw was a black gas mask and colored goggles. I saw him pull out two canisters and throw them.
As I watch the canisters fly over our heads spraying some kind of gas I could only think that this was an interesting part of the act. But then, my eyes switched from the canisters behind us to the man — no more than 20 feet in front of us — and that’s when the joke ended.
The man, who seconds earlier seemed innocent enough, had now pulled out a shotgun and was firing.
The smell of gunpowder and tear gas filled my nose and the sound of screaming people filled my ears.
I started to count the shots.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six…
I thought it was over. But then the sound changed to that of an assault rifle.
I looked to the left, three of my friends were scooting over to the exit.
I wanted to go with them, but my friends to the right were trapped by others.
When James Egan Holmes, the suspected gunman, moved into the stadium seating we saw our chance to run for the door. After pushing the women in front of us to run, we sprinted our way to safety.
Outside the theater, I was consumed with anger and shock.
I was angry that someone could walk into a movie theater and hurt so many people.
But in some way it still felt like a gimmick, a joke, a prank by some kid. A prank that went horribly wrong.
To think, just a minute before the shooter entered, I was whispering about how well Anne Hathaway sold her role as Catwoman.
To think that a minute before it happened, I was worried about how long my drink would last me through the movie at the rate I was going.
Now, I fear pain. Pain for those who were hurt, lost their lives, or their loved ones, and the people who have to live with this experience forever.
I also somehow feel blessed. My friends and I were all unharmed and I am alive.
If he wanted to, the shooter could have easily killed me. He and his assault riffle walked right past us.
I left without so much as a scratch.
But that isn’t true. The moment Holmes, his face hidden by a mask, looked over the crowd, that moment before he opened fire, is stuck on repeat in my mind. The Sunday after the shooting, I jumped at the sound of someone spraying a can of Lysol in my church’s restroom. I can not reconcile the man with the red hair — his face everywhere in the media — is the same man behind a mask that I can’t escape from when I close my eyes.
I wish there were some parting thoughts, some great advice or comfort I could share with you. But there isn’t. Not yet. But like the Dark Knight, I have a feeling myself, the other victims and most important, hope will rise.
