I survived the Las Vegas mass shooting. My eyes are still swollen and red, and my stomach churns so much that eating feels impossible. All I want to do is hide away in bed, avoiding the outside world. As I think about the small steps I need to take to regain some sense of normalcy, I consider hitting the gym to release some stress. But then the thought hits me: there’s only one exit in front of me. Where would I even run?
My best friend, Amanda, was over the moon to see Jason Aldean perform. I enjoy country music too, but more than anything, I was there to share a fun weekend with her.
For some reason, on Sunday, October 1, the last day of the festival, we just weren’t in the mood to drink. It wasn’t that we were hungover; we simply felt off and decided to leave before Jason Aldean took the stage to grab some coffee at the Luxor across the street. After watching the crowd for a bit, we returned to the right side of the stage — close enough to enjoy the show.
At around 9:40 p.m., Jason Aldean began performing, and we stood there, singing along and having a great time.
But then, just four songs in, I heard a series of pops above me and to the right. Deep down, I knew it wasn’t fireworks.
Amanda turned to me, her face reflecting the fear I felt. “We need to get out of here.” We immediately started running.
Suddenly, a barrage of shots rang out — what felt like 30 to 40 in rapid succession. We hit the ground instinctively. When the shooting paused, we sprang up and continued to run, repeating this pattern until we felt far enough away to escape. We held hands as we fled for our lives.
I recognized that sound, unlike many who claimed it was fireworks. The men close to me own assault rifles, and I’ve heard them before. I’ve never fired one myself, but I’ve gone shooting with them. I know that sound all too well.
I grew up in a small Northern Arizona town, surrounded by hunters and proud conservatives. Many of the men in my life have served in the military, and I was once a staunch Republican, even founding my high school’s Young Republicans club. My father has had visits from the ATF due to his extensive gun collection. I even have a .38 revolver in my closet as I write this.
All this to say, I’ve always been a strong supporter of the Second Amendment. I am familiar with the arguments: Bad people will always find a way; it’s not the gun that’s to blame, but the mentally ill individual. If we take away guns, only bad guys will have them. They’ll find other means to cause harm. I’ve echoed these sentiments in the past.
Now, however, I am a high school history teacher in a suburb of Phoenix. My experiences have shifted my views significantly. Teaching in inner-city schools and engaging with American history have nudged my political beliefs toward the center. I won’t claim my views are more valid than anyone else’s, but my life experiences have shaped my current outlook. This shift has affected my personal relationships; just today, I ended a phone call with my father when he recited the familiar “there’s nothing we can do” pro-Second Amendment arguments I know so well.
I feel more isolated than ever. It seems that unless you’ve had to run for your life from an assault weapon firing hundreds of rounds in mere minutes, you can’t truly grasp the horror of it. Some of the men closest to me cling to their beliefs, even knowing I was nearly killed just days ago. They don’t understand.
My friend and I have repeated this sentiment to each other: “They don’t understand.” We share an unbreakable bond formed by this experience. While I wish everyone could comprehend my feelings, I would never wish this ordeal on anyone.
So, what can I do? I feel a growing urgency that we must find a solution. I don’t support a complete gun ban. I believe we can implement measures to make it harder for individuals to unleash violence upon innocent people. Australia took action, and it worked. Why can’t we?
Evil will always exist in this world, and some will always seek to inflict harm. But can we not come together to discuss how to make it more difficult for them? We can create laws that allow individuals to protect their homes while also limiting the ability of others to commit mass shootings.
I love this country and share its stories — both good and bad — with my students every day. We salute the flag together each morning, embracing this land of the free. But today, I don’t feel free. I am terrified. I will never feel safe in a large crowd again. Concerts and sporting events are off-limits for me now. I am forever changed.
As a mother of two wonderful children, I worry for their safety. We cannot call ourselves free when we live in fear. That is not the essence of freedom.
I urge everyone to engage in open discussions about potential solutions. Set aside political differences, listen to one another, and brainstorm concrete actions we can take. All I know to do is use my voice. While I may not sway the opinions of those closest to me, perhaps I can reach others. Maybe there are enough people who understand and want to work toward a sensible solution.
If not, I’ll remain just another fortunate survivor of a mass shooting. It will happen again, and we’ll feel shocked and saddened once more. We’ll send our thoughts and prayers but ultimately do nothing. And the cycle will continue.
In summary, Jessica Lane recounts her harrowing experience as a survivor of the Las Vegas mass shooting, reflecting on her shifting views about gun control and the need for open discussions on possible solutions. She emphasizes the importance of coming together to find a balance between safety and the right to bear arms.