I was 11 when my best friend—Alex—came out as gay. Now, he's dead.
3 years ago, Alex asked me, "Hey, could I tell you something?" Then he said it. The words that would eventually kill him. "I think... I might be gay." He went on to tell his family, other friends, and eventually, the whole world. One Saturday morning, I looked at his blog, not expecting anything. But, I saw something rare: a new post. I clicked on it, and saw that he had posted who he was to the whole world.
At school, we started to get side comments from other people. Snickers could be heard in the hallways, and most of them were directed at Alex.
"Hey, little fag," I heard one day, as I was walking to first period with Alex.
I tried to back away, but Alex grabbed me to keep me by him as he responded, "Hello, little annoyance! What's going on?"
The person glared, trying to find a response, but ended up backing down. Alex had that power to take down anyone—and it was a necessary one for him to have. But one day, it wasn't enough.
It all happened on June 5th. So close to the end of the school year that no one paid any attention. The ringing of the bell was a welcome relief, and all of the students fled from the school. Soon, it was just an empty carcass of a building.
Alex and I were taking our usual path home together, along McAlister Street. We were posting flyers for the LGBTQ right rally in a few days, taking a path towards our houses. We both lived relatively close to each other, enough so that we wouldn't diverge paths until the last few blocks. As normal for our town, there were a few police cars driving around. Often, we just try to avoid them—they usually meant trouble.
But this time, one of those cars pulled up to us. Slowly, an officer hauled himself out of it. He yelled in Alex's face, spit flying from his mouth, "Hey, do you know if you have any permission to advertise that faggot gathering here?"
"I don't need any," Alex responded, reaching into his jacket to grab another stack of flyers. I stepped in front of Alex, to stand up for him in case anything went wrong.
But when the officer saw what he was doing, he thought he was doing something incredibly different. Suddenly, everything seemed to slow down. The officer shoved me, and I landed hard on the sidewalk. He took out his gun, finger hovering over the trigger. Suddenly, something seemed to switch in his eyes. He slammed his finger down on the trigger. Once. Then twice. And then, a third final time. Right into Alex's head. Crying, I ran as fast as I could. I ran like I had never run before. All my body wanted to do was get away. Away from that terrible place. Away from that terrible officer. Away from my newly dead friend.
I found myself in front of my house. Remembering who I was, I grabbed my phone. Dialed 911. Hurtled my way through the conversation. All I wanted to do was help Alex.
"Please. We need an ambulance. My friend was shot. 122, McAlister Street. Please go!"
Flustered, the phone operator hung up. The gravity of the situation hitting me, I sat down on the steps of my house.
"Joseph?" My mom called, peering at me on the steps. "What's wrong?"
I ran into her arms, crying. "Alex... Alex was... he's dead."
"Oh, sweetie." My mom whispered. "What happened?"
"A police officer. A gun."
"We'll figure it out—what to do, I mean."
"I sure hope so," I said as I ran inside.
Just then, I heard the sounds of the ambulance I had called ringing through the air. They had arrived too late. Alex was already, completely, dead.
