On Saturday, Oct. 12, just after my mother’s birthday, I decided to head over to Harvest Homecoming in New Albany, IN. As a Hoosier it’s just one of those things you have to do.
I won’t give a full rundown of our day, but myself and a few friends decided to head over to Harvest around 7, just to give us a chance to walk around before we went to go see our mutual friend and alumni from our high school perform live at the Enchanted Forest. For reference, this is just west of the New Albany YMCA which held the carnival where the shooting happened.
It was a nearly perfect night. The temperature was just cool enough to wear a jacket, but you could get away with a t-shirt if you wanted. Lights from the carnival glowed from behind the YMCA and you could hear faint music in the distance as the concert wrapped.
To me it was just another Harvest. It was a time to relax and check out some local vendors, eat good food and spend quality time with my community. That’s all I’ve ever wanted it to be.
As we finished up from the event, most of us wanted to grab something to eat and maybe hit up a bar or two to round out the night. We trekked about a block and a half north before stopping for sandwiches.
Now we were even farther from the carnival.
Suddenly–
Pop, pop. Pop, pop, pop.
Sounds of screaming came from the south as I distinctly remember four petrified faces of four blonde teenagers sprinting at me yelling one word:
“Shooting.”
Sometimes people have the misconception that if you are a newsperson, you have experienced something like this before, and know exactly how to act.
You don’t. Until it happens to you.
The group immediately disbanded without a word, and my feet ran nearly as fast as the misinformation that swirled around that night.
“4 dead? 5 dead?”
“They’re just teenagers with firecrackers, relax.”
“You’re overexaggerating there wasn’t any shooting, come back”
These were some of the texts I got that I checked later by the time I got to my car.
But as I ran, I noticed something. Dozens of folks were looking back, and even more were erratically throwing away their focus on the law in order to get to where they wanted to go. Namely, home.
Every intersection I passed nearly included a pedestrian collision with a car that was running a red light at over 40 miles per hour.
By the time I made it back to my car I was nearly struck twice by speeding vehicles, but somehow myself and two friends who parked in the same lot as me made it back. And now it was time to call everyone I could think of who was at Harvest that night.
I stared down at my phone and realized who I saw that night as we innocently walked through each city block to see the vendors who took their time and money to set up booths at this annual event.
My brother.
When I called him it rang only three times, but it felt like an eternity.
Oh God, was he at the carnival tonight?
Does he even have his phone?
What if something happened to him and I never got the chance to say I love him?
“Hello?”
My mouth went a mile a minute, asking where he was. “Home.”
I told him I was safe, my friends were safe, and that a shooting just happened but I had no idea if anything else is going on.
We ended the call quickly so I could get home safely with no distractions as scared drivers zoomed from intersection to intersection. As I drove, it was so strange to think back on how fleeting this life really is, and how every decision we make keeps us from being in the crossfire– whether during or following a terrifying event.
Tragically, the same can’t be said for Bryce Gerlach, who wasn’t even in the argument that lead to his death.
This article appears in LEO Weekly presents Readers’ Choice 2024.
