Don't Shoot the Kids

Jake kicked open the back door and bounded down the white, wooden porch steps in a hurry. The BB gun rested on his slender, dark shoulder; his knuckles white from gripping it tightly around the base. His mother followed closely like stink on shit. I tensed when I saw her exit the house, she always knew how to spoil a good time. Her eyebrows had already formed a V, making her look as if one of those fuzzy spring caterpillars were glued there, stuck in the crease above her dark, stoney eyes.

“Don't do anything stupid!” she yelled at Jake, just stopping short at the porch steps. Her large frame made her question if it was worth the trouble to descend the stairs and waste her energy.

“Aw, Ma! Knock it off. We ain't doing nothing,” he answered harshly without turning. I know she didn't believe him because he face was configured in a way that said otherwise. You know the whole “mom look”: the eyebrows raised, the red stricken face, and the puffed up cheeks that show their in a huff 'bout something or another. Yeah, she had that look alright. Hands on her hips, she watched the retreating boy as he made his way towards us.

“Britney, Brooke, Westley!” Her voice was hard and smooth like stainless steel, so me and my siblings stood up real quick and dusted ourselves off in an effort to pay attention. Our ears perked as she stared at us, ready to hear what she had to say. “I'll call your momma on you if you guys do something stupid. Don't think I wont. And if what you think Jake says is a bad idea, don't do it!”

“Alright,” I answered matter of factly. I was tired of listening to this bullshit. We all were. I was just the only one with the balls to say something. It must have worked because her 10 minute speech that she'd prepared seemed to stop short. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at me, Britney, and Westley for a good moment or two. I knew what she was thinking, 'Those Borba kids are just as crazy as their parents...' I didn't mind what she thought. Her kids were crazy too. And I had a hunch she was insane at one time. Her opinions didn't bother me none. Everyone's entitled to one, but no one says you have to give a shit.

Jake took his place beside his younger brother, Caleb. Caleb was kinda queer looking. He wasn't slender and tall like Jake. He was real chubby and soft. Their mother looked at her own sons, then eyed the gun Jake held.

“You kids be careful!” their mother urged.

“We'll be alright, Mom,” Caleb answered as a genuine smile burst beneath his lips. He didn't believe there was anything to worry 'bout. He was a pretty careless kid. Nothing could hurt him since he was so big for his age.

“Yeah, I got my license and so does Jake. We know 'bout safety and stuff,” added Britney, careful to keep her eyes, and the truth they held, away from their mother.

“Yeah, yeah. I suppose you're right. Don't shoot Mellow anymore though, okay?” We looked at the dog, his ears perked at the mention of his name. He noticed Jake and Britney holding the guns. Slowly, the mutt stood up and shrunk out of sight inside his pen. Pretty smart for an old dog. He distanced himself away from our antics before he was sucked into them again.

We all answered an “alright” or a “okay” before she shuffled back through the small doorway. Once we were sure she had gone, we formed a tight circle around each other as Brit and Jake rested their guns on the gravel driveway. My nose crinkled as I noticed that we began to smell more and more like a wet dog. Everyone's face was glowing from the heat, and the frayed clothes we wore stuck to our skin, sticky from the sun's powerful aura.

“What we gonna do?” asked Westley, looking back towards the house. He was expecting to see Jake and Caleb's mom watching from the widow, as she always did. Britney scoped the area and saw a spot to the left of the house where their mother would have difficulty keeping an eye on us. Trees bordered the long, narrow strip of gravel that eventually connected to Las Palmas Ave. It almost looked like one of those shooting ranges used at the amusement parks. All that was missing were the targets.

“Brooke, you and Westley go left by those bigger trees. Caleb, you stand on the opposite end of the driveway,” Britney instructed. Since Britney and Jake were the oldest, we did what we were told. Caleb, in all his chubby glory, waddled to the right of the driveway while Westley ran to the left, eager to see what this game was all about. I walked slowly, sulking.

“Hustle!” Jake yelled at me.

“Why do I have to be grouped with Westley and Caleb? I'm only a year younger than you!” I protested.

“Because I'm the oldest!” Britney said, “And what I say goes!”

“Yeah, and you have to be this tall to be on our side,” Jake motioned with his hands the height requirement. My nostrils flared. I could feel my nose burn as I held back a wave of emotions. It wasn't my fault I was the shortest kid. I stood beside Westley, grinding my teeth, feeling hotter by the second, and this time it wasn't because of the sun.

“It's okay, Brookie,” Westley beamed. “We like having you on our side. It don't bother me at all.” But nothing ever bothered Westley. Everytime you looked into his eyes they were glossy and absent. It was like living with submission. He smiled at me with those brown vacant eyes that I could not read. 'Okay Lenny,' I thought, 'Go tend the rabbits and do whatever you're told'.

“Okay. Now you guys need to run back and forth across the driveway really fast! Once you get to the other side, you need to hide behind the trees and don't come back out again til you catch your breath.”

“No! Forget this! I ain't playin'! You're gonna shoot at us, aren't you?” Anger bubbled and overtook my tiny figure. My thin fingers clinched into a jawbreaker sized fist. I wanted to hit someone real bad. Not Brit or Jake. They'd shoot at me. But if I hit Wes, he wouldn't do nothing. Just stare at me with his open, I guess.

“Aw, c'mon, Brooke! Stop being a pussy. You're skinnier than anyone here anyways. You probably wont get hit at all,” Jake yelled back. I saw that he and Britney were starting to fill their guns with Bbs. Their ammo started to clatter and knock into one another as they trickled down the inside of the gun, shckt shckt shckt, the sound went. It reminded me of those rain sticks when they were shaken. It funny how that sound used to calm my nerves. The tiny beads, soothing in one way, and dangerous in another. Man, what a fucked up world we live in.

“Fine,” I consented, sheltering myself behind the trees. I could see Caleb's fat face on the other side, screwed up in concentration. His husky body was in no position that suggested he'd run fast. Licking his lips, he hungered to show Jake and Brit his capabilities. We all did.

“Ready....Go!” someone shouted.

I darted past Westley and felt my vision concentrate on reaching the other side. Don't think about the gun, don't look around. Get to the other side. I was now a horse wearing a blinder. By this time, I passed Caleb while the guns began to fire. “Pffftt, Pffftt, Pffftt,” the guns whispered, as if emitting tiny coughs. I reached the other side in no time, careful not to trip on the gravel. Westley followed and knocked into me, unable to stop.

“You get hit?” I asked.

He was already gasping. You could almost swear that boy had gills the way he was breathing so hard. He nodded in reply, his face beat red. Lifting up his shirt, he showed me a pink indent beside his outie bellybutton. It was beginning to turn brown quickly.

“What 'bout you?”

“Naw. I guess I was too fast,” I answered.

We turned to see Caleb at the other side. Coughing, he leaned against the tree, his face turned away from ours. “They...They hit...MY RIBS!” he shouted between pants of breath. Laughter ensued from Jake and Britney. Me and Westley didn't know if we were supposed to wait for Jake and Britney to say “go” again, so we just went and met Caleb on the other side.

“Hey! We weren't ready!” Jake complained.

“Your precious animals ain't gonna wait for you to say ready either dumb ass!” I shouted back. Caleb had his shirt lifted, perplexed at his wounds. I was surprised that he was dumbfounded that they'd shoot him the most. He was the fattest one out of us. Everyone would think I'd be funny to hit him.

“Let's go back again!” Westley shouted, blowing our cover. I swear that kid's got no sense.

“Alright, you and Caleb go this time. I'll hang back,” I said, kinda laughing to myself. I thought it would be smart on my part, and I'd have a great view of the show. Caleb and Westley dug the tip of their shoes into the ground and waited for a moment. Then the two started running as fast as they could. This time Jake and Britney were ready, so I heard a great deal of shots. Westley wasn't much faster than Caleb; I guess he was slow in more ways than one. Caleb was falling behind, so Wes got ahead of him and was able to use the tree as defense. Struggling to keep the pace while being hit, Caleb's converse slipped on the gravel. His arms windmilled as he fell on his stomach, scraping his chest and knees. He didn't get up right away, so Britney and Jake kept shooting and laughing.

“Time out!” I called, taking pity. Once the shots stopped, we all ran to meet him. He turned over on his back and groaned a bit.

“I'm alright. I'm alright,” he said nonchalantly.

“Good,” Jake said as he shot his brother in the leg. Caleb winced at the hit, but stood up fast and made to grab at the gun. Me and Wes struggled to overtake Brit but they had us backing away quick.

“Hey! It's only fair!” I yelled.

“Ain't nothin' fair!” Brit spat back. The window opened from the house as Jake and Caleb's mom strained to look out the window. Her brows were furrowed as she squinted. Shading her face from sunlight, she noticed us better. Westley, Brit, and Jake had their backs turned to her.

“But I want to shoot you guys too!” Westley wailed.

Jake pulled his gun on Westley, but before he could shoot, their mom's voice snapped like the crack of a whip. The sheer surprise of her presence made the three stiff with anticipation. No one wanted to turn around and face her. Looking in her eyes was like looking at Medusa. Except it usually involved a lecture. I'd prefer death.

“STOP SHOOTING THE KIDS!” she fumed.

“We ain't shootin' no one,” Jake shouted.

“Yes, you are!” she yelled.

“No, we're not,” Britney replied. Her tone was careful, and not as rough as Jake's. She wasn't our mother. But she was an adult.

“Put the gun down, NOW!” she shouted, her upper lip twitching frantically. She jerked her back inside the house with quick precision. A loud slam, followed by the rattling windowpanes, signaled that she shut the window. I'm still surprised the glass didn't break.

“Aw, hell!” Jake hissed as he threw the gun on the driveway.

A thin Pffftt escaped the BB gun's barrel before it ricochet off a gravel rock. Caleb clutched his face and bellowed a howl of pain. Caught off guard, the hairs on my arms rose so fast that all I could feel was the tingling sensation it left behind. Caleb was a pretty tough kid, so when he began to ball out crying, I knew we were in trouble. He crawled to his knees and sat hunched over his lap, rocking his body back and forth, squealing like a stuffed pig. Then the blood appeared. Crimson jets seeped between his fingertips and fell in tiny drips. I took a few steps back, but still kept my eyes on him. He started to remind me of a monster the way he was growling his words, no articulation whatsoever.

“Shut up! Shut up!” Jake whispered, running to his brother. Taking his hand, he tried to lift Caleb's face up, only Caleb wouldn't let him. “Stop crying. Shut up!” Jake hushed.

The porch door opened, and their mom emerged. Scuffling down the steps, she had yet to find out what had happened. When I looked at Westley, I noticed his eyes were tearing up. He wasn't even conscious of the fact that we were going to get in trouble, he was only aware that his friend lay at his feet, bleeding. Britney, on the other hand, began to tighten at the neck while her shoulders slumped in dismay.

“S-She's c-c-coming...She's coming!” I whispered hurriedly to Jake, almost unable to talk. Caleb's brother jumped to his feet and met her halfway. We didn't hear what he said, but I noticed that her eyes bulged out of her face as she pushed past Jake and ran faster than Westley and Caleb combined. Almost sliding on the gravel herself, she stopped short of her son and tugged his hand away from his face. The tiny pool of blood Caleb held splat to the ground. He lifted his sweaty, tearful face. Apart from the oozing blood cascading down his features, the only significant injury we saw was his shrunken eye, which had been hit directly. I cowered in disgust and mumbled ,“nonononono” to myself.

I noticed Jake standing far away from the rest of the group, eyeing his gun. They would take it away for sure now. Their dad said they would chop it with the ax if they weren't responsible. I sat in disbelief. How could this happen? We were just playing. Just playing.

How were we to know we'd shoot his eye out?