Seeing as how I’m avoiding some work, I thought I’d blog twice today.
Now this story should be prefaced with a disclaimer: What I’m about to say is as true as I remember, even though I was about 11 when it happened, and some of my recollections about events in the story defy some logic. But you’ll make your own judgments.
So after my parents separated, my dad moved into a 5-room shack about a mile away from my mom. I hated this house for so many reasons (probably the biggest being it was the first home that I had to commute to from my other one), but it really was a shitty house. It was one floor, and had awful wood flooring that desperately needed a good sanding. Plus I think the house was just always cold (I imagine it wasn’t insulated, and I don’t recall seeing a heater, even though one must have existed). But it was the best my father could afford at the time, and the address was 123 4th St., which I still get a kick out of.
This particluar block of 4th street was quite the little community. Everyone knew each other–mostly because there were only 6 houses on the block and 1 held my dad and another housed my future step-mom and her 2 kids. So right away we ruled over about 1/3 of the block.
Friends of friends visited often, and doors were always open, so people went freely from house to house, in a weird Pleasantville meets white trash sort of way. One guy who visited was Tony (I think he was Tony. I want to call him Mike, but I did that in the last story I wrote).
Now, I don’t remember what Tony looked like, but I do remember he showed up at odd times, leading me to think that he didn’t have a 9 to 5 job. Or prior commitments. Or a sense of purpose. But there he was. Tony, if I recall, developed a thing for one of my stepmom’s sisters, so he seemed to be around a lot. But then it didn’t work out, so Tony didn’t hang as much after a while (This part doesn’t make total sense to me because this sister was married, I think. Maybe they were just friends? I just have a vague recollection of the 2 of them hanging out together, and now I’m spreading lies).
One particular night Tony came to say hello to my dad. Very drunk. He came inside, and I vaguely remember having the feeling that my dad was taking him to ensure that he didn’t hurt himself or others. I think my dad just figured he’d let the guy sit for a while, sober up and then send him on his way.
Now here’s where it gets fuzzy.
Tony turns to me and says, “Have you ever seen a gun?”, to which I being 11 said, “No.” He then said, “Well, I have a BB gun here.” and pulled out a gun from a crumpled brown paper bag. It could have been a BB gun because it was small (kind of like those guns that you think are real guns, but turn out to be lighters), but I remember it being steel, with an ivory handle, not plastic like a BB gun. My dad seemed to be paler than normal–looking back I imagine he was coming up with an exit strategy for Tony–but smiled, so as not to make Tony uncomfortable or anxious.
I don’t really know what happened next, but my dad got him to leave, using the “So & so just called and said they want to see you”/Fool the drunk excuse. It worked because I remember Tony left, and neither one of us (nor my step-mom or step-relatives) got shot. So that happened.