WTF?! What am I doing? I can’t do this? I don’t want to do this anymore.
“Do y’all have any questions?” the instructor asked.
“Um, can I practice holding the gun again?” I responded.
“Yeah, sure. Is this your first time at a gun range”
“Not quite. I went a few years ago in Texas but I didn’t shoot. It was too surreal, ya know? It was outside in an open field. No instructions. No tutorial. No safety tips. No safety glasses. Nothing, but you, your bullets, and a pistol.” I replied while trying to hold the unloaded pistol properly.
“Damn. That’s where I need to go. Texas. So I can shoot with the Cowboys.” He replied as he readjusted my grip around the gun.
“I guess.” I shrugged and sat the gun down.
“Thanks, for your help.”
“Sure thing. Good luck.”
“You ready babe?” the mister called out. He was so anxious to do what most guys enjoyed doing at the gun range–shoot.
Me, on the other hand, was scared to death. If it wasn’t a Valentine’s date that I begged him to take me to for weeks, I would’ve insisted on leaving. But now, it was far too late. We had waited a full 2 and a half hours for our reservation. He would have had a fit and our Valentine’s Day would have been a nightmare.
“Yeah.” I lied with a fake smile that stretched across my face.
You know, the kind of smile that revealed every tooth in your mouth but your eyes are wide enough to know that it isn’t sincere. The “I’m not impressed” and “WTF” is this smile when you open a gift. The “oh hey” I’m being phony smile. The “say cheese” smile a less photogenic person gives in a photo. Yes, that smile. I was far from impress and
couldn’t grasp why I wanted to do this from the start. What the heck was I thinking? Seriously.
I slowly trekked behind the mister into the shooting range where shots were firing off.
My heart skipped a beat and my feet were suddenly planted in the floor. I couldn’t move. I really, really, really didn’t want to do this anymore. I really wasn’t mentally ready for this. I was scared as shit. What if something goes wrong? Then, what? I almost confessed to the mister, “Hey! I lied. I’m not about this life. I’m rets to go! NOW! Come on!!”
But he had already loaded the pistol and there was a crowd of spectators peeking through the glass window, whom anxiously awaited to watch us shoot.
“Ohhh nooo! Now, I really have to do this and make a clown out of myself.” I whined.
“What? What’s wrong, babe?” the mister turned around and asked.
“Huh! Oh. Nothing. I’m good. You ready?”
He smirked and chuckled, “Yeah. Are you?”
I nodded yes, sat my purse down, slid on my glasses, and grabbed my phone. It was ShowTime.
“Make sure you record this.” he demanded.
“Yeah, I know. Let’s go.” I said while flagging my hand for him to carry on.
With his hands securely hugging the pistol, he inhaled and fired off…BOOM!
The gun was jammed.
(Rule number 4. “If the gun jams, don’t attempt to unjam it. Place the gun down, facing the range. Then, come and get me.”~Instructor)
“What are you doing? Put it down. Oh my gosh! PUT IT DOWN.” I shouted.
He was attempting to unload the gun himself. But it wasn’t facing the range and he was totally doing all the non-examples for how to unjam a gun.
Thankfully, he heard the fear in my voice and sat it down.
“What’s wrong with you? You’re bugging out.”
“No, I am not. You are. You were about to kill yourself had I not stopped you. I’m going to get the instructor to fix it. Leave it alone.” I nagged as I exited the room.
Maybe I was bugging out. Maybe I was overreacting. But I was stressed, frighten, and barely breathing. I couldn’t risk him causing harm to himself due to a careless accident. We needed the expert to handle this situation.
“All right. All done. Are you ready to shoot?” the instructor asked me.
I gave my fake smile and reluctantly took the gun from him.
The mister, not too far behind, chuckled at my transparent fears. To him, it was pure comedy seeing me afraid for once. It was a rare opportunity of a lifestyle that he surely took advantage of.
I ignored the mister. I couldn’t bicker back and forth with him. I had greater things to worry about. Like how I was going to shoot this gun correctly without hurting myself.
Trust me, the mister was the least of my worries. Besides, little did he know, he had it coming for him later that night. Who tries to unjam a gun with the barrel closely moving towards yourself? Airhead.
I turned my head towards his laughter, gave him an evil smirk, rolled my eyes, and turned back around. We’ll see who will have the last laugh later, mister. Wait until you see this video of yourself. I quickly snapped out of my devilish plan to refocus my attention on shooting properly. It was time.
“Ok, place your right hand around the handle and grip firmly. Ok, now place your left hand around it, as well. Ok. Now, what?” I thought.
“You ready, babe?” he chuckled.
“Almost. Hold up and just start recording. Dang.” I sassed while looking down at the gun.
“Umm. Ok. Ok. Umm. Oh yeah. Bend your knees so that you can have a good balance. Keep your arms straight and lock. Focus. Take a deep breath [inhale]. Pull the trigger. [exhale].”
Negative energy exited my body and I instantly felt free, empty, and 5 pounds lighter. It was a desirable feeling, so I pulled the trigger again.
BOOM! Fire appeared.
BOOM! The shell case smacked me in my forehead.
“Ouch!” I shouted and frowned at the warm shell case falling from my forehead.
BOOM! The finale.
The mister laughed as I sat the gun down facing the range. I gave him a smooth nod and a mean stare down as if I was Rick Grimes that just put a few bullets in the walking dead.
“Fuck outta here. You are not gangsta.” he teased.
I wasn’t trying to be gangster. But in that moment, I was Rick Grimes, a former officer from my favorite sci-fi series, The Walking Dead that vicariously murdered a zombie from the apocalypse. I had a tad bit more confidence and newer swag. In fact, I wasn’t even jumpy from the shots fired by our neighboring shooters. I was chillen like a pro-fe-ssio-nal.
“I could get use to this.” I smirked and thought. “Was I officially a good girl, gone bad? Hell yeaa!!”
“Did you enjoy yourself, babe?” said the mister.
“Yeah, I did. It was perfect.” I said glancing up at him as he returned our materials.
“So, when are we coming back?” I smiled with my eyes as we left our first firearm date.