As a high school student, my world shattered when Tennessee lawmakers OKed arming teachers

Editor's note: This is a personal essay by a Nashville high school student who witnessed the final vote to allow for classroom teachers to be armed.

The metal doors slammed as we left school early. We walked down the concrete sidewalk, conversations revolving around the bill that legislators proposed to add guns to an environment citizens actively want guns removed from.

We made it to the marble staircase leading up to the capital, the building holding hundreds of thousands of lives of students in their hands.

Before going through the glass doors, security, and the crowds of journalists, we sat in the hopeful shade of the stairs. The cool marble helped to slow the racing of my heart, sweating of my palms, and the doubt in my stomach.

At 12:56 we walked in and up the indoor marble staircase to the room where all the legislators were walking in. A little girl stood across the unofficial path for legislators. She had a bright blue sparkly bow on and was missing one of her front teeth. She held a sign that said, “Don't arm my teachers.”

She smiled and waved enthusiastically. I waved back and stood straighter.

Another view: My husband was killed in a 'gun free zone.' Arm teachers for safety and to save lives

Observers in legislature felt hope and hopelessness at the same time

A man came over and pressed the black button on the top of his camera that would preserve our presence. We then walked up more stairs to the gallery. We sat down, the red plush chairs doing little to break my fall into reality. Doubt and anxiety flooded my body and was on the faces all around me.

The dynamic on the floor was different than expected, with phone calls and many side conversations. Apart from the suits and microphones, the atmosphere was laid back and calm. Nothing like the atmosphere of children cowering under desks and in corners of a room during their monthly active shooter drills.

They moved through each new piece of legislation with ease, leaning back in their seats and using long metal sticks to reach the buttons.

House Bill 1202 flashed across the large screen. People became increasingly restless; whispers broke across the viewing space. We stood up holding our signs higher. Both hope and hopelessness tangled in my stomach.

Amendment after amendment and all they accomplished was a red screen saying a majority believed that parents shouldn't be alerted when their child is in a room with an armed teacher, that there shouldn't be safe storage for guns in the classroom, there shouldn't be more training for teachers walking around with loaded weapons.

A woman began screaming at the legislators, telling them that this was insane. Three troopers escorted her out.

Rep. Justin Pearson, D-Memphis, recognized the crowds and how detrimental this bill was, yet the majority continued munching on their Chick-Fil-A and tapping the glass screens of their phones.

My tears finally streamed down my face after the vote

I stood there alone, my arm hurt from holding up the sign for so long, tears pricked the back of my eyes threatening to show the overwhelming vulnerability and helplessness I felt.

Then the small bell rang out over the crowd, this sound would determine the fate of countless lives. The screen flashed green. The bill passed.

The tears that I had been holding back streamed down my face. The crowd began screaming, “No, no!”, verbalizing the anger and sadness I felt.

The chant “Blood on your hands, Blood on your hands!” filled the echoing room. I was scared. The troopers began escorting everybody out, doing little to suppress the chants of the crowds.

I stood in defiance, holding my sign as high as I could. Mothers embraced children. Quiet sobs of angry citizens filled the pauses.

A trooper told me to leave, he forced me to get in line. We all slowly walked down the stairs to the door of the chamber.

My walk to the bus stop did little to comfort me. The world continued to spin even though my world had just been flipped upside down.

Fifteen-year-old Parish DeVries is a freshman at Hume-Fogg Academic High School and comes from a family of Nashville natives. She loves to travel, loves her friends, and cares deeply about her sister and all of the foster children that come through her home. 

This article originally appeared on Nashville Tennessean: Guns in Tennessee: Vote to allow arming teachers broke this student