Page 1 of Take My Hand

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HAYDEN

They scream my name as I stand onstage, but it’s not those screams I hear when I lay my head down at night.

You never think it’ll happen to you.

You see it on the news, day after day, week after week, year after year, tragedy after tragedy.

Tears, anger, screams, thoughts, prayers. Rinse, repeat.

There’s a part of you that gets desensitized to it. You can only see the same headline in different variations so many times before you start to grow a bit callous to witnessing such senseless violence.

I know I did. At least before I experienced it firsthand.

That woke me back up really fucking quick.

Because even though the news cycle moves on with newer stories and more recent tragedies taking place in front of the eyes of the public, I can’t. I can’t forget.

I can’t forget the look of panic in the eyes of those sitting next to me on the bleachers of the gymnasium that day as everyone realized what the loud, sharp, popping sound was.

I can’t forget the pure chaos that ensued. Parents scrambling and jostling to get to their child, whom they had just been watching graduate from high school only moments before.

I can’t forget the way my mom’s body shook in such absolute terror as I laid mine on top of her and Lucas, my younger brother, while my dad was one of those charging down the bleachers to reach Will, my youngest brother, who was graduating that day. I can’t forget the way the air felt so damn heavy, stifling with fear, terror, and something metallic.

I can’t forget the way my heart rate slowed in those moments that I wondered if I was dying and just didn’t realize I had been shot. It tricked my mind and body into a false sense of security.

I had never seen my dad cry before that day. But after the bullets stopped and we all found our way back to each other, unharmed physically, he wept in a way I didn’t know he was capable of.

There are a lot of things I’d like to forget from that day. And some days, I do forget them. Some days, I go about my life, present in the moment and enjoying the little things.

Other days, I’m scared to go to sleep because I know what I’ll see when I close my eyes, what I can’t forget. The image of the young girl’s white graduation robe slowly turning red as she succumbs to the wounds inflicted by a classmate. The look of hatred from the one who decided to take other people’s lives into his own hands as he rose from the back row and opened fire.

However, some days are better than others, and today started out good.

But that’s the funny thing about trauma. You can be having a good day, feeling on top of the world as you perform at one of the country’s biggest music festivals with your best friends, feeling proud of yourself and how far you have come not only personally but also professionally.

And then…boom.

They scream my name as I stand onstage, an echo, chanting for me and my bandmates.

Hayden, Hayden.

But it’s not those screams I’m hearing now.

I hear the voices of my mom, Lucas, screaming my name, as the pop of bullets reverberates off the walls of that gym. Calling out to me for protection, for comfort, for some reason that only their panicked minds will ever know.

But if there’s one thing I’m grateful for right now, it’s muscle memory.

I shut my brain off, muting my surroundings and blinking a film over my eyes, locking myself away from the rising panic.

This is not the time. Not in front of thousands of fans, halfway through our setlist.

Instead, I allow my fingers to take on a mind of their own, trusting them to play the songs in rhythm and carry me through until I can take my bow and leave.

And that’s exactly what I do.

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