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writings


Outer Space


I was maybe eight years old and lived in Marion Iowa. My mother had moved to a little town in South Dakota and was working as a nurse in a drug rehab center. I always thought it was like a half way house for alcoholics, but later I found out it was primarily a clinic for heroin addicts. I was living with my grandparents and would visit my mom on Christmas and during the summer. My mother called unexpectedly and said I should come and meet her new boyfriend. She said he was a very nice, successful business man and had some kids of his own that I would surely love. My mom lived eight hours away I assumed my grandfather was going to have to drive me out there, but my mother said I was going to fly.

Flying may not be a big deal for some people but as a kid it scared the hell out of me. I was told I had flown as a baby someplace with my mom out east, but that was different. This time I was old enough to know what was going on. I kept asking my mother who was going to fly with me because I told her I wouldn’t go alone. Flying was bad enough and flying alone was making it worse, I thought! She told me that a nice guy called an Air Marshall was going to take care of me and escort me on and off the airplane. She said I wouldn’t be sitting by him but he would always be close by keeping an eye on me alone with the stewardesses. “There will be stewardesses too?” I said, and she said, “Yes, you know, the girls that walk up and down the aisle with a cart, passing out things to eat and drink.”

At that moment I remembered that my mom had always wanted to be a stewardess. I said, “Oh, a stewardess, that’s what you want to be isn’t it?” My mother then proceeded to tell me her stewardess story I had heard many times and I regretted mentioning it. She tried to be nice about it, but always said I was the reason she couldn’t be a stewardess because the airline companies said she had all the qualifications but children were always a problem. They told her that mothers were always missing work because of sick children and a stewardess couldn’t miss work. I would say, “Tell them that I live with grandma and grandpa and never really get sick anyway.” She said she had already mentioned that, but they still wouldn’t hire her. My mom said she wanted to travel and meet interesting people. It made me angry that she couldn’t get the job she really wanted but I resented the fact that I had something to do with it. I told her I was still scared to fly by myself but she said flying was the only way I could get there and she was sending me a round trip ticket.

My grandparents wanted me to dress up for my big plane ride and took me shopping for a new pair of shoes. We bought a white pair of patent leather disco type shoes with really tall plastic heels. I wore them with my gray striped polyester bell bottoms and felt like a real man. Of course my shirt had the big collar and cuffs to balance the bell bottoms and I had the undeniable look of some John Travolta type movie star, or at least that’s what I thought.

II

The day had arrived and my grandparents waved goodbye. A man with sunglasses and some sort of official looking badge walked with me across the runway to the plane. I was greeted by one off the flight attendants and she showed me to my seat. I was a little more than terrified as I sat there because I couldn’t imagine how this bus like vessel was going to fly around in the air like one of the birds in my backyard.

I sat clear in the front, directly behind first class, and had an empty seat on either side of me. I liked the idea of being by myself but I looked around until I found the air marshal who was seated in the middle of the plane. He still had his sunglasses on and I couldn’t tell if I was getting real eye contact from him but it made me feel better to know he was there.

I can’t remember too much about the flight besides eating peanuts and drinking a Coke; the whole ordeal was a little overwhelming. I do remember the disco shoes were starting to take their toll and I couldn’t wait to get to my mom’s and lounge around in my socks. These shoes may have looked cool but weren’t made for human beings, I thought! Even just sitting there, the shoes were causing me a lot of pain and I surely couldn’t imagine how the people on American Bandstand danced around in such things.

The plane landed and I was still alive. For some reason I felt as if I had accomplished some monumental task. The only thing I had done was sit in a chair and bite my fingernails, and I still felt as if possibly somehow I had flown that plane and landed it safely in some faraway exotic land. The air marshal walked over and waited with me until it was time to exit the plane.

It was time to get back on my feet and find a new way to walk. I wiggled my toes and stood up. Perhaps walking strictly on my heels or strictly on my toes would make the pain go away, I thought, but nothing really worked and I stepped quick to get the pain over with. My mother and her boyfriend were waiting out on the runway and I was starting to get hungry as a bear. I was planning on her new boyfriend to buy me supper because I figured he wanted to show me how much of a great guy he was. They always tried to get on your good side to win acceptance, but I was smarter than I looked.

III

My mom introduced me to Bob. Bob was a tall, lanky John Wayne wanna be kind of guy with a nice round beer belly. He had a deep sloppy voice that reminded me of a drunken cowboy in a dirty saloon. Bob acted like he was glad to have met me for about five minutes, but after that he treated me like something he had to put up with. I told my mother I was very hungry and she said we were definitely going to get something to eat in a few minutes. We found our way to Bob’s car and I think my mother drove because he had lost his drivers license but I can’t remember why.

We drove and drove until I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to ask my mom where in the hell we were going because we were passing restaurants right and left. My mother said we were going to Bob’s ex wife’s house so I could meet her. Why in the hell did I want to meet her, I thought! I was hungry and the last thing I wanted to do was meet his ex wife! I can’t say as though I liked Bob, and his family, {or ex family} had absolutely nothing to do with me, I thought! I soon found out I was wrong.

We pulled up to this tiny brown house and I was told to get out and come inside. They went in but I stayed glued to my seat. They were in there forever and finally two boys came running out and jumped in the car with me. God Lord! I thought! Who in the hell are these people? The two introduced themselves quickly and proceeded to jump around and act like little troublemakers. They were Steve and Brian. Steve and Brian didn’t bother to tell me who they really were, or I mean to say who they belonged to, they just went on about their business like I wasn’t there. I was a very quiet kid and these two were so loud and vociferous that they were starting to give me a stomachache. Eventually, during a brief moment of silence, I did ask them who they were, but they only replied with fake farting noises and simultaneously spit saliva allover my arms.

My mother and Bob finally came to the car and Bob’s ex was walking close behind. I had to meet this woman and act like I was glad to meet her because they informed me she had been looking forward to this for quite some time. Quite some time, I thought, what in the hell is going on? My mother and Bob got in the car and we left. These two boys kept acting like hyperactive maniacs and Bob started yelling back at us to knock it off. I resented the tone in his voice because for one; I wasn’t yelling and jumping around, and two; I still wasn’t told who this Steve and Brian were.

Finally I couldn’t take it anymore and in a rather bold voice asked, “Are these two boys your sons?” Bob wasn’t really listening, but my mother said Steve definitely was. I said, “So Brian isn’t Bob’s son then?” Bob then spoke up and growled, “No, Brian isn’t my son!” and I felt as if this Bob guy thought I was an idiot for asking. “He is Steve’s best friend, and I hope you three get along fine because you’ll be seeing a lot of each other,” My mother said. Oh my God, I thought, I sure as hell didn’t want my mother marrying this guy! I not only had to endure the wrath of the evil cowboy stepfather, I also had to stomach the two obnoxious hooligans sitting next to me! I wanted to go back to my grandparent’s house but I was trapped many miles away. I asked God Almighty why I was always in the middle of these torturous situations, because something like this was always happening to me. I prayed to be thirty years old so nobody could tell me how or what I could or could not do. I hated losing any sense of control, and my blood started to boil.

IV

We pulled into the parking lot of some big western style steak house that looked as if it had been plucked directly from the fine state of Texas. The two boys ran inside as fast as they could but I lingered along admiring the wooden wagon wheels and steer’s horns that decorated the outside of the building. I couldn’t wait to see the inside and imagined waitresses wearing cowgirl outfits and big signs that read,- If you can finish our FIFTY POUND STEAK, you get it for FREE! This place definitely looked like the kind of restaurant Bob would like and the rest of us walked inside.

The restaurant was fairly busy and we were seated in big booths against the back wall. They were made of old rustic looking wood and had rancher’s brand marks burned into the wooden slats that separated the booths. I sat next to my mother and Bob sat on the other side of the table. Steve and Brian were in the booth adjacent to us and when the waitress brought the water and menus, the boys quickly soaked bits of paper napkins in the water to prepare their spit wads. The fine young men waited patiently for their sodas and straws which of course were needed to launch their ammunition. I tried my damnedest to stay away from those two.

I told my mother what looked good on the menu. Bob told my mother what the kids were eating and I thought maybe that’s what Steve and Brian were having but I surely wasn’t. I whispered this to my mother but she said I should listen to Bob and have what he said. Listen to Bob! I thought! I just met him and I didn’t like him and now I was suppose to listen to him like he was my father or something? I quietly told my mother once again that I’d rather have this particular sandwich but she told me I was out of luck.

The waitress comes back with our food. She places a big platter of something at Steve and Brian’s table and sets food in front of Bob and my mother. I was wondering what I was going to eat and the waitress said, “Will there be anything else?” Bob says, “No, but maybe later sugar.” At this point I ask my mother, “What did I get?” and she says, “Bob, what is he going to eat?” Bob says, “The Silver Dollar burgers!” I asked where the Silver Dollar burgers were and he said, “Over on the kids table!” The kids table, I thought? I wasn’t going to sit at some kid’s table. I didn’t have a clue as to what he was talking about and he said, “Your food is over there with Steve.” I then quietly asked my mother if I could get a plate of the kid’s food and come back over so I could sit with her. My mother poised the question to Bob but he simply refused. “How old are you?” He asked me, “Nine,” I said. “Well Steve is ten and I don’t know how old Brian is but he’s in Steve’s class and anybody here today that’s under ten sits at the kids table! “I haven’t seen my mother in months and I want to sit by her!” I boldly stated. Bob didn’t like that comment one bit, and my mother told me I had to sit with the boys. “You better get over there before your food gets cold,” she said.

The boy’s table was covered with tiny bits of soggy paper. They were throwing and spitting things at anybody that dared pass by. I was now their new target and continuously picked little paper globs off my shirt. I was very worried they were going to get in big trouble and drag me into their mess, so to speak, but luckily they took a break and had something to eat. The center of the table contained a large platter of French fries that was encircled by numerous small hamburgers. These pathetic hamburgers were called Silver Dollar because they were the tiniest burgers known to man. Steve and Brian were chomping them down in one or two bites and were starting to hoard them in little piles. I reached for one but Steve grabbed it and stuck it in his already full mouth. I was able to take one of the abandoned ones sitting off to the side because it had a malformed bun and the meat looked shriveled up like it had sat unnoticed on the floor somewhere for a considerable amount of time. Steve said, “You can have that one!” I took a small bite and sat it down in disgust. Before I knew it the entire collection of little hamburgers were eaten up and all that remained were a few ketchup soaked cold French fries. I was still very hungry and took my time eating what was left because the boys weren’t interested. They once again started their spit wad campaign and were even bold enough to attacked Bob and my mother. I couldn’t wait to go back to my mother’s apartment. Things were just starting to get interesting.

V

It was getting late. This time Bob decided to drive even though he didn’t have a driver’s license and I felt like we were all going to pay for it. We turned off the main road and were on gravel. I didn’t know this area very well but I knew this wasn’t the way to my mother’s house. We were in the middle of farm country and turned down a small road that led to some un-farmable derelict land. It was almost completely dark and I felt as if my mother and I were being kidnapped. Our headlights collided with a miserable shack and for an instant I saw a long row of beat up trucks that continued past the headlights. I made myself ask who lived here and someone said, “We’re home.”

It was now pitch black and Steve and Brian jumped out of the car and were lost. I was scared to even get out, let alone run off, and you could hear Bob outside reaching around for the doorknob. My mother said he needed an outside light of some sorts and he replied with a grumble. Someone turned a light on inside and I carefully went towards the house. I asked my mother what was going on because she had told me he had a nice house and owned all kinds of property and I thought this place didn’t fit the bill. She whispered that the house wasn’t that bad and not everybody likes big houses. Bob overheard our conversation and surprisingly didn’t seem angry at my criticisms. “I’m a bachelor you know, I use to have a big house but I sold it when I got a divorce. I like this place because it’s easier to maintain.” This place was hanging together because it wanted to, not because Bob cared for it, I thought.

The front room had an old t.v. and orange couch. One wall was covered up by small wooden crates that went from floor to ceiling. The kitchen was basically in the right hand corner and to the left was a small closet with an Office sign posted above the doorway. The only other thing I could see was a small room off the back of the house that held a mountain of cardboard boxes. I was beginning to think my mother didn’t really know this man at all and he went to the refrigerator for beer. Bob took a drink and decided to give me a tour. He told me to take the lid off one of the wooden crates stacked by the television. I was apprehensive and imagined these crates contained lobsters or venomous snakes. I thought of lobsters because this stack looked like something on a fisherman’s wharf, and I thought of snakes because Bob simply gave me the creeps.

VI

After numerous demands I lifted the lid off. Inside was hunk of metal. I had no clue what it was suppose to be and began to appreciate it strictly as a sculpture. It was about a foot tall and consisted of three spiked heads that were geared together. It looked dangerous and reminded me of a sea creature or a midlevel weapon. Since he had boxes of them I boldly asked if I could have it. “Have it! What would you do with it? I bet you don’t know what it is, but I’ll give it to you if you can guess.”

Bob went for another beer and my mother smiled as if to say- see, he is a really nice guy. I guessed it was some sort of car part and he gave me another guess. He was starting to get drunk and was flirting with my mother. I tried like hell to think of what it really was because if I got it right I believed at that moment he would give me the darn thing. I then said it was some sort of weapon used by the military and he said, “What for?” I had to guess something and I said, “Blowing stuff up.” That was a bad guess because it didn’t really look like a bomb but it did look destructive. “You’re getting close but you’re wrong, - they’re drill bits for my oil mine.” Oil mine, I thought? I had driven past the oil wells of Texas while traveling with my grandparents, but I hadn’t noticed any oil wells around here. I said, “Do you have land in Texas?” “No, I have a couple of oil mines around here and I think I got oil on this property, -I’m going to start drilling real soon.”

He then went on to brag about how much each of these drill bits cost and said you had to constantly replace them because they always were getting dull. Bob then grabbed my mother and flung the two of them on the couch. He was drunk and laughed like a beet red mongrel. My mother was on top of him and he squeezed her so hard she couldn’t say much of anything. Bob said, “Your momma and I are getting married! What do you think about that?” I felt shocked because I didn’t expect that to come out of his mouth. He was still squeezing her and she was barely able to look back at me and grunted, “What would you think about that?- Steve would be your step brother and you could move out here.” I felt pressured to agree and I said, “Oh, I think so.” Bob then said, “Go get your mother a beer!” I looked at her and said, “Do you want a beer?” She said, “No, and I think Bob should cool it with the beer, you’ve been drinking since dinner.” He looked at her with contempt. That put a kink in his party.

VII

My mother and Bob got up off the couch and Brian and Steve came bolting through the front door. They had found a couple of flashlights in one of the sheds out back and were running around in the dark chasing rabbits. Brian stopped to use the bathroom and when he was done they went into the back room with all the cardboard boxes and once again disappeared. Bob realized he hadn’t shown me his office yet and said, “Hey come over here. This is going to be room when you and your mom move in.” What is this guy talking about, I thought? I wasn’t going to move in here. My mom wasn’t going to move into this place, was she? My mom kind of laughed and I hoped that was a sign that she surely wasn’t.

Bob opened up the door to the office and turned on the light. It was very small and there was barely enough room for a small bed and a metal desk. Displayed on the walls were semi automatic pistols framed and mounted on crushed red velvet. I guessed they were something like his diplomas. “Look at this one,” he said with proud drunken eyes, “It’s a rare collector’s item.” It was gold plated and he instructed me to never touch it because he didn’t want any finger prints on it. “Oh, and look at this one!” he said, “This one is silver plated and it’s rarer than the gold one.” Now he was starting to whisper. “Don’t tell anybody they’re here.” He was hunched over and talking directly into my ear. He proceeded to tell me the story behind each gun but I had no idea of what he was talking about. “You know that gun manufacture, don’t you?” My mom walked in and I told her I didn’t want to sleep in a bed under a wall of gold platted guns. “What if one falls off the wall and shoots me when I’m asleep!” I said. “They’re not going anywhere!” Bob exclaimed, “They’re specially bolted to the wall so nobody can steal them!” “What if someone pulls the trigger and they go off and the bullet ricochets around and gets me that way!” I boldly stated. “They’re not loaded and they’re worth more because I haven’t fired them!”

My mom told me not to worry about it and wanted me to get ready for bed. “Are we sleeping here?” I asked. “Yes, we’ll go to my house tomorrow,” she said. I sat down on the bed and felt extremely uncomfortable. Bob said, “You’re not sleeping here, this room is usually Steve’s and he’ll be upset if you take his room.” “I thought you said this was my room,” I said. “The boys are spending the night too, and you three are going to sleep together in the attic.” “What?” my mother said. “Yeah, the boys like it up there; they sometimes even ask to sleep up there because they say it’s like their private fort or something.” “I’m not going in the attic!” I said. “You’ll like it, oh it’s real private, but remember to stay on the plywood because if you step off onto the insulation you’ll fall through the ceiling and I’ll get mad as hell.” “There’ll be bats and spiders up there, and it’s probably dark!” I said. “Oh Bob, does he have to?” mom said. “Well it isn’t fair to my son if your son gets to sleeps down here in the bed by himself.” “Couldn’t they sleep down here in sleeping bags,” my mother asked. “No…-let’s ask the boys to vote on it and they can decide themselves.”

A minute later Steve and Brian appeared out of nowhere and ran into the room. Bob said, “Everybody that wants to sleep in the attic raise your hand!” Steve was the only one to raise his hand and I figured I’d won the battle. “Come on you chickens!” Steve said, “Too scared to go in the attic Brian?” “I don’t know if I want to sleep up there,” Brian mumbled. “Chickens!” Steve said. Bob joined in and they started to taunt Brian until he gave in and raised his hand. “See!” Bob says, “That’s two to one and the attic wins!” “I don’t want to!” I screamed. “You have to chicken, raise your hand if your not scared chicken!” Steve was making me see red but I felt I had no other choice but to raise my hand and give in. “See dad!” Steve said, “Its three votes for the attic!”

Bob walked into the front room and pulled on a rope dangling from the ceiling and opened the passageway to reveal the attic stairs. As he unfolded the ladder to the floor, I felt as if he was the executioner leading us up to the gallows. Steve grabbed a blanket and headed up the stairs with Brian close behind. “Come on!” they said. I walked over and carefully climbed up with a blanket expecting something bad to happen. “Remember to stay on the plywood!” Bob yelled.

The attic was small, or should I say didn’t have much head room. I could barely stand up in the center under the peak of the roof, and of course it tapered down drastically on either side. Steve and Brian crawled out towards the eves and kind of wedged themselves under the roof rafters in the shadows. I stayed in the middle because everywhere else felt too claustrophobic. I was in a small hell and was trying to figure a way out of my dilemma.

“Does anyone have to go to the bathroom? Because I’m shutting the door and it won’t open until morning!” Bob yelled up from below. “I have to go!” I yelled, “Don’t shut the door! Can’t you leave it open tonight?” I said, “What if I have to go in the middle of the night?” “Get down here then and hurry up!” I walked back over to the porthole out of hell and Steve said, “Oh, we’ll see YOU when you get back!” I could tell that comment was supposed to scare me and it worked; I had a sick feeling and could only imagine what was going to happen. As I climbed down the stairs I saw my mother in the other room and said, “Mom, what if I have to go in the middle of the night like I usually do, what am I going to do?” “You do?” She said. “I told you to go now so you don’t have to go later!” Bob grumbled from the kitchen. “We’ll leave it open,” she said, “Don’t worry.”

I went to the bathroom and crawled back up to my nightmare. Steve and Brian were opening some big wooden boxes they had come across in the dark recesses of the attic and were whispering amongst themselves. Bob came back to the stairs and yelled up, “O.k., the lights are going out!” “No,” I screamed, “You can’t turn the lights out! I don’t want to sleep up here!” Bob said surprisingly agreed to leave the light on for us so we could see what we were doing {so we wouldn’t fall through the ceiling} and he said, “See you in the morning.” With that he folded up the door and locked us in. “My mother said you’d leave the door open!” I yelled, but I received no reply. “Chicken!” Steve cried. “Yeah, chicken!” Brian kindly added.

The boys were still whispering and arguing about the contents of the wooden crates; they were giving me the creeps. I lied down on a piece of plywood and stared up at the dirty roof rafters above my head. At this point I could’ve cared less about what was in the boxes and I was starting to get cold and hid under a blanket. One messily light bulb lit our whole little world and knowing it was on was my only source of comfort. All of a sudden Steve says, “Hey, hey you.” I look up and he was aiming something at me. “That’s an M-16!” I said. I knew it was an M-16 because I’d seen the soldiers in Vietnam carry them around on the six o clock news. “Don’t point that at me; it’s not real!” I yelled. I was very scared because I had a feeling it most certainly was real. Steve and Brian had unearthed a large collection of machine guns from the boxes they had been going through. “It’s real!” Steve yelled, “and I’ve got three more of these and a bunch of shotguns and rifles and even a Tommy gun!” The two boys proceeded to show me their entire arsenal and I’d never seen so many guns in one place in my life. “Oh, they’re pretty cool,” I said, and I hoped that comment would win me a little peace. Steve pointed the M-16 at me once again anyway and started pulling the trigger. “Bam, bam, bam!” “Stop it, what if it’s loaded; you’ll kill me!” “Bam, bam, bam!” Brian grabbed one of the shotguns and gave me a glare.

“Mom, Mom! They’re trying to kill me, mom!” I didn’t trust these guys for a second and yelled as loud as I could and prayed my voice would penetrate to the first floor. Bob yanked down the stairs and yelled through the opening, “Who in the hell is screaming up there!” “It’s not me dad, it’s him, it’s her boy!” Steve cried. “He’s trying to kill me!” I exclaimed, “He’s pointing guns at me! He’s got a machine gun!” Bob climbed up the stairs and started to laugh. “That’s just part of my gun collection,” he said, “and the one Steve’s holding came straight from Vietnam.” “They’re pointing them at me and pretending to shot me!” “Oh there just playing around. They’re not loaded, I keep the bullets downstairs.” My pleas weren’t getting me anywhere. “Someday when I die, Steve’s going to inherit the whole collection, aren’t you Steven.” “Yeah dad,” Steve said with a grin. “Maybe Steve will be nice and give you some of them if you’re going to be my son too.” “Maybe,” Steve said, “but I get to keep all the expensive ones!” Bob closed the attic door once again and Steve said, “Oh I’m sorry if I scared you, like my dad said, they’re not loaded.”

After awhile we all started to fall asleep. Steve and Brian were huddled up in the corner about twenty feet away. Just as I started to doze off Steve whispers, “Hey, hey you, are you asleep yet?” “Yeah, almost,” I yawned. “Look at this,” he said. I sat up and found him pointing a shotgun directly at me. “Stop it! It’s not loaded anyway,” I said. “Yes it is,” he said, “The ammunition for the machine guns is downstairs, but I found one shotgun shell for this shotgun, and in the middle of the night, when you’re sound asleep, I’m going to kill you.” I started yelling bloody murder and was praying my mom and Bob weren’t sound asleep. They eventually yanked opened the attic door and I climbed down the stairs as fast as I could.

“I just don’t understand,” Bob said, “why you two don’t get along.” “He said he was going to kill me and kept pointing guns at me, you’re not supposed to point guns at people!” Bob wouldn’t listen and kept saying, “Yeah, but they weren’t loaded.” “Steve said he found a shotgun shell up there and was going to shot me!” “Oh I don’t think there’s a shotgun shell up there,” Bob said, “But I’ll go up there tomorrow and look for myself. Now go in the office and go to bed!” I thought the worst was over. Bob called up to the boys and said, “He’s sleeping in your room Steve, are you sure you don’t want to sleep in there with him?” Shut up, I thought! I don’t want to be near either one of them! The boys decided to stay in the attic and I imagined them sneaking over and shooting at me through the ceiling. As I laid in bed, I stared at the gold and silver platted pistol mounted on the wall above my head and thought of them as my guardian angels. I’m getting the hell out of here tomorrow, I thought, and I wish to hell those guns were loaded after all!

Morning had arrived. I got my things together and was ready to head out. My mother said we were staying a few more hours because she and Bob had some things to do. Brian’s mother had already come to pick him up and now it was just Steve and I. Steve appeared from bathroom and was carrying two bows and a bundle of arrows. “Let’s go have a shooting contest,” he said. We both walked out the front door and I was finally able to see where I was. I was in the middle of some kind of junk yard. The dirt road directly out in front was littered with broken down white tow trucks. Each one had a broken windshield and smashed in radiator. I felt like I was on the moon. There were a few scraggly trees growing up around the trucks but other than that all I could see were bean fields in the distance.

As we walked past all the broken glass and bashed out headlights, I asked Steve who owned all this stuff. “My dad used to have a tow truck company, but somebody that worked for him came out here one night and smashed them all in with a baseball bat.” “Is he going to fix them?” I asked. “No, I don’t think so.” As we walked down the dirt path, I could almost see someone with a bat brutalizing everything in sight. The damage looked like it had been done fairly recently and I hoped whoever had done this wasn’t planning on coming back anytime soon. The more I walked, the more I realized this place was beyond help. There were more junk cars strewn about down the road and there were even heaps of discarded furniture here and there. Why would someone leave a dresser and a couch clear out here in the middle of nowhere, I thought? I asked Steve where he was taking me, and he said, “We’re going right over that hill.”

The hill was about one hundred yards away. The further I went, the more desolate the land became. As we reached the top of the hill we came upon a vast no man’s land. The bean fields seemed even further away than before and we were entering a barren land composed of nothing but rocks and clay. I asked Steve if his dad owned any of this land and he said, “Yeah, all this land but not any of the bean fields.” Something in the distance caught my eye. It looked like a gigantic hole on the ground. “We’re going over there,” Steve said. “Over there?” I asked. “Yeah, we’re gonna have a bow and arrow contest in the bottom of the pit.”

As we approached, I expected to find the thing full of old cars and broken furniture but the only thing in it was a red bench seat for some sort of a van and a three foot tall stack or records. The pit was square and about fifteen feet deep and fifty feet wide. I imagined it would be a good place for Bob to bury his old house and broken down vehicles and I wondered if that’s what he had in mind. Steve said, “Come on!” and slide down the side to the bottom. As I climbed down into the hole I felt like this place was swallowing me up. I felt totally defenseless because Steve still hadn’t given me a bow and I prayed he wouldn’t shoot me with an arrow. “We’re gonna shoot at the records and see who can hit them the most.” Luckily he offered me a bow and a bundle of arrows, and now I felt some sense of comfort even though I had never shot an arrow in my life. Steve propped a record up on the red car seat and said, “Don’t shoot yet, I’m going first!”

Steve shot at the record a few times and missed. “Now it’s your turn, if you think you can do it.” He walked over and proceeded to show me how to hold the bow. “Good, now put the arrow right above your thumb and pull it back all the way and let it go.” My first attempt failed. The arrow kind of bounced off the bow and fell on the ground about six feet away. “I’ve never done this before,” I said. “Ha, ha, I guess I’m going to win,” Steve cried. I tried once more and was hell bent on succeeding. I was getting sick of this place and had thoughts of shooting Steve right between the eyes. I pulled the arrow back and squinted so hard I almost made myself blind. I let go of the arrow. It flew like it had a mind of its own and hit the record dead center; it shattered it in a million pieces. “You’re a liar!” Steve said, “You have too done this before!” “No, I swear!” I hated being called a liar. Steve ran over to the record pile and sat up another one on the old bench seat. “Try it again; I bet you can’t do it again,” he said. The pressure was on. I tried to contact any magical powers that might be floating around to help me do it again, {Steve needed to be shown he wasn’t the smartest guy in the world}. Wham! The arrow hit the record again and broke it into three beautiful pieces. The explosion wasn’t quit as dramatic as the first time but it still amazed Steve. “You liar!” he said. He ran and set up another one and tried to even the score. Steve shot until he ran out of arrows and didn’t hit the target once. “I guess I win,” I said.

Steve was humiliated. He ran at me and ripped the bow out of my hand. “We’re not playing this game anymore!” he screamed. I protested, but he said they were his bows and if he wanted to stop playing it was up to him. He climbed up out of the pit with both the bows and a handful of arrows and shouted, “I’m getting the B.B. guns!” and ran off. For a moment I just stood at the bottom by myself and felt like some sort of gladiator in the Coliseum who had just killed the opponent. The dirt walls that surrounded me on all sides became the cheering spectators and I was the victor; I was starting to feel powerful.

I climbed up the side with the feeling of defiance and walked proudly back towards the Bob’s old shack. I was a little concerned about Steve’s comment, “I’m getting the B.B. guns!” but I told myself that I could now handle anything. As I walked through the bombed out landscape I saw Steve running towards me with two guns. He had one in either hand and looked like a soldier running to the front line. I ran to meet up with him and he handed me one of the rifles. “Have you ever,”… pause… “Have you ever shot a B.B. gun before?” he asked as he was trying to catch his breath. “Yeah, I have one at home.” He walked over to a pile a junk next to an old tree and said, “There’s one!” He carefully aimed the rifle and, POP! “What are you shooting at?” I asked. “A rabbit, I like to kill rabbits!” “Rabbits!” I cried, “You can’t shoot rabbits, you’re not suppose to kill animals!” “I can shoot what I want!” he yelled, “The other day I shot a cat but it got away!” “You can’t shot cats!” I yelled, “I have a cat at home and I like cats!”

He cocked the gun and, POP! shot again. “Stop!” I said, “My grandfather said never to shoot animals unless you need to eat them!” “I’m not eating rabbits or cats!” he said. I was starting to come unglued. I thought of my cat at home chasing rabbits in the backyard and it always upset me. I briefly imagined my cat running around the yard and saw Steve running after it with his B.B. gun. I couldn’t take Steve anymore and yelled, “Hey you, hey Steve!” Steve turned around and I raised the rifle up in the air and pointed it right at his chest. Steve turned pale as a ghost and froze with big eyes. “How do you like it now Steve; how do you feel with the gun pointed at you?” Steve couldn’t say a word and didn’t move a muscle. I knew I shouldn’t be pointing a gun at anybody but I was overcome by the moment. After a couple of seconds I quickly dropped the barrel and shot at a tin can right next to his foot. PING! Steve screamed like a little girl and dropped his gun. He ran as fast as he could to the house crying, “Dad he’s trying to shoot me!”

I was beginning to realize what I had done. I felt guilty and could only imagine what was going to happen to me. Steve made it to the house and after a moment yelled out, “My dad wants to talk to you, you better get in here!” I slowly walked back. As soon as I walked into the door Steve grabbed the gun out of my hands and Bob said, “You aren’t allowed to ever play with a B.B. gun again! You never point a gun at anyone and definitely don’t shoot them!” “I didn’t shoot him!” I cried, “I shoot near his feet because I was mad he pointed that shotgun at me…and said he was going to kill me and…,” Bob interrupted, “You shot at him and could have put his eye out!” “He was killing rabbits and said he liked to shoot cats!” “My son can shot whatever he wants because I don’t like rabbits and I don’t like cats either!” “Steve pointed a loaded shotgun at me in the attic and…,” Bob interrupted again, “There aren’t any bullets up there, I told you he was just joking!” “He had a shotgun shell and…,” Bob interrupted and asks Steve, “Was there a shell up there Steven?” “No dad!” Steve said. “Did you go up there and check like you said you were going to do?” I asked Bob. “No, I’ll do it later!”

I was in big trouble. I had to sit in the office all day with the door closed and I started to cry. My mother had heard the whole story and starting to get the hint that I really didn’t want to be there. Later she made Bob go in the attic and look for any bullets. Bob came back down with not one but three shotgun shells and was trying to figure out how they got up there. He put them in the kitchen drawer with the silverware and told Steve not to play with them. My mother helped me with my suitcase and we left. She parted ways with him a couple of weeks later and eventually quit her job and moved out of town. I was back with my grandparents and Bob called our house a couple of times demanding to know were my mother had moved to. My grandfather wouldn’t give him any information and Bob swore he’d fly to Marion in his private jet and kill us all. “He doesn’t have a plane, does he?” My grandfather asked. “No grandpa, he drinks too much and thinks he’s one of the Rockefellers.” “Oh,” he said, “one of those of guys.”

It was Tuesday night and every Wednesday was show and tell day at school. I thought I’d tell the kids my story because I didn’t have anything to bring in for the class to look at. The next day the kids were glued to my every word and the teacher interrupted quite often and seemed a little concerned. She kept saying, “Could you explain that part again?” When I got home after school my grandparents told me to never tell that story again. “Why?” I asked, “I didn’t make it!” They said school had called and was worried about me. I really didn’t know why. At the time it all seemed terrifying, but now my ordeal almost felt exciting. “The kids liked it,” I said, “It was the best story anyone had told all day!” “No,” my grandmother said, “That sort of thing just isn’t good. I don’t blame you, but people don’t want to hear about all that.” I quietly disagreed.

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