On April 7, 2017, I was shot in the head by my best friend, Mark, in our on-campus apartment, one month before college graduation. I was in the living room finishing up an English paper. Mark was in his bedroom getting ready, or so I thought. We were moments from leaving for a local establishment for some chicken wings and poutine and light beer. It was a Friday night.
As it turned out, Mark was not getting ready in his bedroom, but was instead fooling around with one of five guns he kept on campus. He didn’t know it was loaded, and by some means he pulled the trigger. I was leaning over in our living room to pick up a scrap of paper or a guitar pick or dead battery. A split-second decision to clean. The bullet ripped through two walls before striking the top of my head. It fractured my skull, sending shards of bone into my brain before ricocheting off and landing on the carpet. I required neurosurgery, titanium plates and screws.
In my book, Friendly Fire: A Fractured Memoir, I call the shooting a (freak) accident, an “accidental shooting,” though that is not technically correct. Most gun violence prevention organizations, such as Everytown for Gun Safety, prefer the term “unintentional shooting.” Practically speaking, the words “accident” and “unintentional” mean the same thing—not malicious, no ill intent—but the semantics suggest something deeper.
When I hear the word “accident,” the word that always wants to follow it in my brain like a smartphone’s predictive text is “happen.” Accidents happen. It is in their nature to occur; their existence relies upon them happening, unavoidably so. And therein is where the distinction lies. Unintentional shootings don’t need to happen. In fact, they shouldn’t happen, with how avoidable they are by enacting smarter gun policies and practicing responsible gun ownership.
Why, then, did I decide to deviate from the established nomenclature and call my shooting an “accident”? The truth is, it was never a conscious decision. As I began to tell my story, first to law enforcement, then doctors, then therapists, then private investigators, then lawyers, and on paper throughout, the word “accident” was a constant refrain. Without question, without a second thought. For a couple of reasons, I believe, my brain gravitated toward its usage, and I continue to use it in the larger conversation around my story.
