Melisa Snyder, Peak to Peak.

“Did you hear about the shooting?” the question floated above the lunch murmur in the small teachers’ room.

Looking up from her rice bowl, Samantha, the 27-year-old American teacher was confronted with a pair of middle-aged, Japanese eyes filled with bewilderment and fear.

Samantha and Yuki sat huddled at the utilitarian table tucked into the corner of the room. Preparing for their next class, a handful of teachers sat behind their government-issued desks piled high with textbooks and papers in the densely packed room.

“He had only been in America 3 months.” continued Yuki Nakamura.

In this small fishing village on the overlooked island of Shikoku, a Japanese high school teacher had heard, and she was scared. Even in the pre-internet era of 1992 news traveled fast. That morning, every newspaper and TV broadcast in Japan had carried the story of the Japanese exchange student shot to death in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

“What was his name?”

“Yoshihiro Hattori.”

A woman about Samantha’s age popped her head out from behind a tower of textbooks. “He was only 16 years old.” She lamented. “What was he doing?” looking at Samantha for answers.

Her teacher exchange program had prepared the young people from The U.S., Britain, Australia, and New Zealand for their roles as informal ambassadors. And, in her first 3 months traveling the county teaching English at the diverse public high schools, she had squashed rumors that she rode a horse to school and had a funny accident. But no one had prepared them for this. No one could have.

“He was going to his first Halloween party with his host brother,” came from the ancient man smoking at his desk.

“They say he was dressed in a white tux like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever.” Added Yuki.

“The newspaper said he was at the wrong house.” The young woman shot from across the room.

“It was an accident.” Samantha choked out.

“Didn’t the house have Halloween decorations? He rang the doorbell,” the old man accused and took another drag from his cigarette.

“Why did they shoot him?” asked the bewildered teacher sitting at her desk.

The teachers’ incomprehension pressed down on Samantha. She couldn’t tell them it baffled her. Shocked her. It was her job to give them answers.

“They told him to ‘freeze.’ ” Yuki said before Samantha could respond.

Ash falling from his cigarette, the veteran English teacher looked up for the first time. “What is ‘freeze’ ”?

“To stop moving immediately,” Samantha explained.

She could feel the guilt and failure that came over his face. She realized how responsible the teachers felt. Not teaching a random idiom got a student killed. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t even from the area.

“It was an accident.” She repeated hoping to chase away the specter of guilt flying around the room.

“The lady at the house said Yoshihiro scared her. His skin was darker than hers,” the smoking teacher said between drags of his cigarette.

“He was so handsome!” the younger teacher sharply interjected.

“Her husband came from the side of the house with a gun. They think Yoshihiro didn’t understand the man’s English. So, he kept moving towards the homeowner. He might have thought the gun was for Halloween,” he added.

“It was a misunderstanding.” the young American feebly responded. Helplessness and grief hung in the air.

“My 16-year-old daughter, Reiko, will be an exchange student in California next month.” Yuki whispered from across the table.

Samantha pushed away her barely touched lunch. She took a drink of water hoping it would wash down her growing sense of panic.

“She has worked for this since junior high. Reiko was so excited when she got accepted to the program. We bought a new suitcase to celebrate.” pausing as the joy of that day came back to her. “This morning, she asked me if she could return it.” she sighed as the joy evaporated.

Samantha looked down at the table hoping her long, blonde hair would hide the tears in her eyes.

“Why do Americans love guns?” the ashen mother asked.

“Not all Americans like guns.” Samantha quietly answered. Looking out the window she watched the nearby ocean hit the grey stone barriers spraying water into the air.

“But you’re from Texas. Everyone from Texas has a gun.” She stated like it was a universal truth bringing Samantha back to her burden the burden of another’s making.

“I grew up in Texas. Did I tell you that my family lived in Okinawa and Misawa when I was in elementary school? My father was stationed at the U.S. Air Force bases. We didn’t have guns in the house when I was growing up. My mom wouldn’t even let my brother have a BB gun.”

“BB gun?”

“A toy gun.”

“I don’t know if Reiko should go to California next month,” the worried mother confessed.

“I am so sorry. You know… California is very different from Louisiana.” was all Samantha could think to say.

Suddenly the room jumped with activity as teachers left for their classes. Yuki and Samantha got up and grabbed their books. The two teachers silently walked side-by-side down the plain hallway to their next class.

She followed Yuki into the cavernous classroom. They stepped up a foot to the long teachers’ platform at the front of the room. At 5’ 9” the Danish-American felt like the green giant standing next to her diminutive co-teacher.

A chorus of “Good afternoon, Nakamura-san” rang through the room.

Samantha waited for her introduction.

“Good afternoon, students. We are lucky to have Samantha-san visiting today,” their teacher began.

Samantha looked down the four neat rows of high school seniors. Clad in their blue and white uniforms the normally enthusiastic students looked back with somber faces or down at their 50’s era desks.

“Does anyone have a question for Samantha-san, today?”

A hand shot up from the first row.

Nakamura-san acknowledged the energetic teenager. “Yes, Hiro.”

The lanky boy stood up behind his plain desk “Please tell us vocabulary like ‘freeze.’ So, we don’t die in America.” He sat back down and patiently waited for the newly christened American ambassador to answer.

Looking at the sea of neatly styled black hair she quietly sighed. They knew and they were scared. They were just shocked as their teachers were. And she had 5 other schools to visit that month. This wouldn’t be the last time she’d answer that question.

She stood in front of the 30 faces feeling exposed. And not the daily stick-out-like-a-sore-thumb exposed she continued to grapple with as she acculturated to her new home. The naked exposure of representing a country. Of having to answer for her country’s shame. Even if it had absolutely nothing to do with her.

What she wanted to say to the boy and his classmates was to stay in Japan. Learning vocabulary like “freeze” wouldn’t protect them from the lethal American cocktail of racism and guns. What she wanted to say to Yuki was to keep her daughter in Japan. Keep her home. Keep her safe.

“Freeze is a good word to know.” she said beginning a futile lesson on safety in the U.S.

Melissa Snyder taught English in Japan from 1992 to 1995. The lessons she learned that day impassioned her to empower her ESL students throughout her 20-year teaching career. She lives in Eldora with her husband and two labs. For more information on the killing of Yoshihiro Hattori see the documentary film, The Shot Heard ‘Round the World, released in 1997 by Christine Choy.