Gun Control

The murmur of the City of Angels fades in and out like a low pulsing moan.  I’m on the rooftop of Citigroup Center, a 48-story high rise.  Gravel crunches beneath my five inch heels.  I’m wearing my size 4 red suit dress, the one that matches my Mustang GT convertible.  The silence is disturbing; it’s too quiet.  I know he’s up here somewhere, armed and dangerous.

I hear a breath, but maybe it’s my own?  I turn around, but not fast enough, because his fingers are tangled in my blonde tresses as he yanks my head back towards him.  In the split second he enjoys his victory I wonder if he could possibly imagine the look I see on his face when the pistol I pull from my garter is aimed between his crystal blue eyes.

“Don’t move.  Unless you can run faster than my bullet,” I say stealing the line from the song Pumped Up Kicks with cool authority.

And back on planet reality…

The loud BANG!  BANG!  BANG! of the guns going off around me scares the living s*** out of me.  I’m standing at Red’s Indoor Shooting Range in Pflugerville, Texas, population 12 people, and I keep trying to remember how to hold the 9 mm gun my friend, Regina, lent me, but I’m shaking so bad I can hardly focus.

I squeeze my eyes closed and pull the trigger (not a very effective strategy for hitting your target) and the force of the gun pushes me back.  Not to brag, but I am probably the worst shot in Texas.  The target is held up by this metal wire and I shot off the wire.  Twice.

A deep voice behind me says, “Put the gun down.”

Oh good!  An excuse to let go of the gun!  It’s the man who works at the range.  He towers over me and his goggles make him look even bigger.  I’m assuming he’s come to inform me that I’m doing it wrong.

“Is this your first time holding a gun?” he shouts over the flying bullets.

“Yes.  It’s my birthday gift from my friend, Regina,” I shout back.  The ear plugs make my own voice sound odd to me.

“Happy birthday.  Your stance is wrong.  Put your right foot forward and your left foot back.  Good.  Now I know a gun is scary to you, but holding it as far away as possible from your body is not helping your aim.  Pull it closer.  Good.  Wrap your fingers around-right.  That’s right.  Ok, now aim, breath, shoot.”

I hit the target in the middle of the head.

“All right!  That was a kill shot!”

Scary Birthday Experience #2 – Shoot a Gun.  Mission Accomplished.  Now on to Scary Birthday Experience #3 – Enter a Bikini Competition (at size 14!  OMG!)

 

 

 

 

 

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