We all feel it. That moment when you feel extraordinary. That point in your life where time stands still. War doesn't exist; pain and loss are just faded thoughts that used to be and clarity rules over everything else. You are free. We all feel this, and we all get our rush through different things. For me, its music. There is a sense of belonging when you are standing between hundreds of people all singing the same lyrics, all clapping for the same song. You are one. And at that time you are certain everyone else beside you feels it as well. You are part of something bigger, and it feels like love. I imagine people feel like this on their wedding day, or the day they see their newborn child. Its a simple thing, and its ours for the taking. Life is ours, and when your moment strikes, happiness consumes your thoughts and you're on fire. 

My name is Grace. My mother named me Grace because she hoped that would be my best quality. I don't  know if it is. Evaluating myself has never been a point of interest for me. My interests instead poke at larger questions and things that seem less boring. Not that I think I'm boring. But I'm not a girl with an outstanding talent or 'defining' feature that makes me unique. I'm just Grace and being just Grace is fine. I'm not ugly, but once again I do not like to evaluate. Besides, who decided what and wasn't ugly? I think its all empty garbage, and I could be using my brain for a much better purpose than deciding whether I think the girl that served me at the corner store had nice hair or not. But to my point - by 'societies standards' I am not ugly, but I would never be asked to model for a fashion magazine either. Which is fine by me, because I suck at saying no to things. I currently sponsor a child in Fiji for an amount of money I cannot afford and have a bathroom draw full of skin products that I'll never use. Saying no is on my 'need to work on' list. I have sandy blond hair with maintainable regrowth, my eyes are green and my freckles are dark. When I did my Body Mass Index it said I was just outside of the obese range, but I have a flat stomach and can rock a bikini at the beach. Health science is insulting. I was a lot more confident with my body until it was evaluated and put into a 'range'. 

I have a feeling that I've been living my life on neutral for a little while now. You know, not having a reaction to things that probably deserve one? I don't jump from up to down, but instead stay comfortably on the flat line. This never used to be me, I'm not sure when I turned into such a robot, but I sure as hell know why. Last April my high school suffered a shooting. Three teachers and seven students died that day. One of those students was my thirteen year old brother. My perfect, unaffected little brother. Life changed from that day. Music began to lose its effect on me, the colours mixed on my pallet fell grey and canvas's remained unpainted. My life had become cloudy. I was a new person and I felt anything but fucking graceful. I began to start hating the world, and I'm pretty sure it hated me right back. I don't know if I I'll ever get back to the Grace that paints rivers whilst listening to Envy on the Coast. But I still believe that anything can happen; I haven't lost my entire being. 

The sun shook me awake as my eyelids were greeted by the sunny crease beaming through the gap in my blinds. Another day I thought. I would have paid good money to sleep in for another 15 minutes, but I knew that money would go to waste as long as my mother stood at my door knocking with screaming eagerness. 

"Grace, time to get up!"

"I know. I'm already awake," I said with my eyes still half shut. 

"Well I've already made you up a bowl of muesli, it's getting soggy," she said "so hurry up and come downstairs".

Her voice was like home to me, a comfortable thing that at times you want a break from, but you'll probably miss the next day. 

I opened my door, she was still there waiting for me to reply. Her hair was a dark chocolate brown, and ran down to her lower back. She had bright green eyes and a curvy slim figure, by 'societies standards' she was hot and what desperate teenage boys would call a milf. My mothers looks definitely did not reflect my appearance. 

The residue on my raspberries was sliding down the side of the bowl and sitting on the oats. Stage one of sogginess. I ate my muesli slowly, for some reason it was a meal I could not eat at a normal speed. 

"Are you ready for today?" My mum asked as she sipped her what I predicted cold coffee. 

"Um, yeah. I mean, I've written my speech but I don't know how I'll go presenting it"

"You'll do fine honey. You've always been a strong public speaker"

"Yeah, you're right" I agreed with her in hope that the discussion would cease. 

"I'm so proud of you Gracie. And thankful. Thank you for doing this today" her voice cracked a little, but mum wasn't a big crier.

I went upstairs to get ready. I pulled my hair into a bun with a black ribbon to support it. I put on the flow-y pink dress that mum and I had previously decided on. I dabbed a small amount of foundation on and slathered my eyelashes in cheap discount mascara.

We drove mainly in silence as I was going over my speech in my head. I could feel her thoughts though. My mother is sad. But so am I. So it was okay. 

There were a lot of people already seated, and a lot more standing outside the hall talking, slowly making their way inside. I spotted Carrie. My solid rock of a friend that had been nothing but constant support for me over the past year. 

"How you holding up?" she asked, her eyes full of concern. 

"I'm okay Carrie. Nervous to speak, but okay" she nodded and went to find her seat next to my mum. 

I took a few deep breaths and repeated in my mind that I could do this. Principal Jenkings was speaking now. I couldn't hear exactly what he was saying, but I knew my introduction must have been coming up. 

"We now have Grace Goodman joining us. Grace used to be a student of Piermont High and is here to give a few words" The audience started to reassuringly clap as I walked onto the stage. 

"Thank you Principal Jenkings. And thank you all for being here today to remember the tragedy that struck us all last April. Today marks a year since the shooting, and also marks one year since we all lost our dear friends and family. My brother, Paul Goodman was a victim of the shooting and was taken from us at the young age of thirteen. The reason my dear Paul died last year was because he refused to be swayed by the evil that had trespassed into our school. He saved a life that day. Miss Chloe Moore, Paul's eighth grade English teacher still see's the sun every morning because of him. And we are all, infinitely grateful for Paul's unmissable bravery. But it was not just my brother that possessed bravery that day, every person in the school was a hero. We came together and took care of those in need...' 'Life is messy and scary, but we owe it to the beautiful souls that left us that day to live our lives to our highest efforts" I didn't even know if I believed the words I was saying..."I hope you all will stand with me in showing the universe that we will not be scared by this event, yet we will be brave and relentless, just like those who died last April. We will be strong." I wanted to take back my words, I wanted to scream that it wasn't okay. But that wasn't my job. My job was to bring hope to those that currently lived in fear. 

The applause returned as I stood there, filling these students with my words. 

"I will now ask you to bow your heads in recognition of those we lost. I will say their names followed by a moment of silence..." "Paul Goodman, age 13. Derrick Carter, age 13. Lisa Trumbell, age 16. Liam Porter, age 17. Macy Lovett, age 15. Kylie Straget, age 17. Ben Plowman, age 17. Mrs Rachel Simmonds, age 32. Mr Robert Parker, age 47. Mr Wayne Fairfeild, age 28" 

The room was not silent, but instead full of falling tears and sharp breaths. I felt miserable. This was just typical now. Tears were typical and it bored me. It no longer sufficed as a good enough reaction for me. Tears had been replaced by anger. I just felt angry. I was forced to say those names like it was just another list, This list had been structured no differently than a grocery list. Remembering death was a formal thing. My mind wanted me to scream but my mouth knew how to behave. I could see the reason for a day like this, a person like me to 'honor' those that were lost, but honestly, I thought the whole idea was bullshit. How many years does this go on? When does some decide, 'oh yeah, it's been this many years, they've been remembered enough. Cut it loose'? Organizing shit like this astounds me. Not really a job I'm looking for. And what about the shooter? He died that day, the guy shot himself. Yet, it wasn't in my structured list.