Within minutes, the shots allegedly fired by Lee Harvey Oswald, a disgruntled little man with communist party ties and a penchant for the dramatic were heard round the world.
I stopped in my tracks. The overgrown grass on the school lawn tickled my ankles and I felt the sudden buzz of a wasp flying by. I was in shock. I was in a daze a dream, half-awake and half-cognizant of only my immediate surroundings.
In my classroom, one of the girls seemed unaffected by the tragedy. While most of us had sullen faces and were even praying silently, she was smiling from ear-to-ear, her eyes beaming with a sense of accomplishment. She was reading a book and would look up every now and then almost scoff or condemn those of us who were mourning.
“I am glad he’s dead,” she blurted out.
“Like I said, I’m glad he’s dead. . .” she said and seemed to smile even more brightly.
One of the girls in my class, Florinda Davila, could not stay quiet. Strongly and confidently, she challenged the statements by her classmates.
Suddenly, she burst out and said. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” and fell to her knees, pleading for forgiveness.