Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Number one with a bullet ...

Yesterday I held a small pistol, mechanically altered to not kill people, in my hot little hand. I had been offered the opportunity to fire a blank and choose a stranger as the target.

"Can I shoot it at him?" I asked, waving the gun in this kid's direction.
"Yeah, yeah."

Without even thinking, I raised my arm up, closed an eye, aimed and squeezed the trigger channeling every bad-ass bitch I've ever seen in any movie. It roared. And frankly I freaked the eff out.

The target went back to what he was doing and I just stood there with my ears ringing and the gun at my side and my eyes wide. Someone laughed. And then I kind of doubled over in shock and exhaustion. Whoa.

"You actually fired AT someone?" Chuck asked later.
I nodded.

It kind of reminded me of the time we saw a lame deer in the middle of the road looking broken and I called the police to fix it. When the cop got there, he brought a huge rifle out of the car with him and when I realized he wasn't going to nurse the deer back to health from his own teat, rather he was going to "put him down," I was all "CAN I WATCH?!" And he said yeah.

I'm always interested in seeing something I've never seen before, and this seemed like it would be super interesting. Until I got back in the car and Chuck was like "You really want to see this?" which shook me back to the reality of WHAT I'd be seeing and away from just that I'd be seeing SOMETHING.


That's when I put the car in reverse and sped away from the scene of the crime. In my memory I hear the gunshot, although there is no evidence of that in my permanent record of the event. But I do remember sobbing as I drove.


And that's kind of what it was like having just fired this gun, albeit loaded with a blank, at a stranger. Without the part where someone says "Wait. Are you sure you want to do this? Because this is going to feel totally real."

I've shot a gun before. Like every girl who goes off to college, I had a boyfriend bound for the marine corps who had collected an arsenal of firearms. We went out to a gravel pit and shot at things rock piles or dirt or whatever. And then went to Dairy Queen or whatever.

So. I guess the moral is that I'm not going to ever be able to shoot a person. I got to keep the shell casing as a souvenir.

2 comments:

Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm said...

My friends got mad at me for watching somebody shoot heroin in a bathroom. They said I was encouraging him. Not true. He was gonna do it regardless, and I just wanted to see his eyes roll up and his shoulders slump. I did. It was underwhelming.

I saw the junkie a couple months later. He'd taken to scratching at his face while doped up, and he had red, raw, skinless patches all along his jawline.

If that would've happened instantly upon him shooting up, I'd have a wonderful memory to savor for the rest of my lifetime. Alas.

Christa said...

Steve -- Write more please.