"I was nailing that test, why'd that psycho have to do that?" I joked.

I think my classmate smiled back, and now there was definite chatter. Some kids who had never slackened their pace were by now rounding the corner towards the Science Center's exit. I felt a little guilty about the break of levity--it was probably better to be safe than sorry--so I sped up again.

Going by the Greenhouse I caught a glimpse of what I must have looked like during my blank-minded second of silence. A middle aged, slightly graying man had just picked up a cup of coffee. He stood staring at the crowd running by for a moment. No one had told the onlookers why we were running. Then the man started to run, acting, I imagine, without thought, a natural reaction to the crowd.

In another second we were out of the building. Surprisingly, I don't recall any logjam in front of the revolving doors.

Outside the lecture hall, everything seemed normal again. We milled about. Students bunched together in shifting groups, as an increasing number poured out of the building. There were the first-handers, those Alexander scholars with names A to P, and there were the rest soaking up the hurried story.

I milled around, now the new Crimson editor unsure how to deal with the unfolding situation. The fact that it appeared that I had survived the incident may have emboldened me, as I cockily walked up to police officers still shouting at me to get back. I managed to antagonize a security guard, and I was grateful when Crimson backup arrived.

Over the next few hours I told the story of my day countless times, giddy with the dual excitement of the scare and the reporting. I didn't really think about what had happened inside until just after noon when the building had been reopened and I stopped by the Science Center again to retrieve my coat.