THE TIME I GOT SHOT

 I don’t know if I ever told you or not, but I’ve been shot before. Really. Of course, it was a BB that I was shot with, back when I was a kid. I know, that’s not really like bein’ shot, shot, but technically, it is bein’ shot. Someone else didn’t shoot me, it was self-inflicted. No, I didn’t do it on purpose. It was an accident. You see, I was practicing’ my fast draw with my BB pistol, and I shot myself in the foot. It probably wouldn’t have hurt much if I had been wearin’ shoes, but it was summer, and I didn’t wear shoes in the summer. Well, that’s not entirely true. I had to wear shoes to Church and such, but that was about it. I really didn’t want to wear them to Church, but Mom made me. I even argued that Jesus and them didn’t wear shoes, but she said that she wasn’t Jesus’ mother, but she was mine and I was goin’ to wear shoes. I never did win an argument with her. Anywho, where was I? Oh yeah, the time I shot myself.

Now, when I shot myself, I didn’t go runnin’ in the house cryin’ and such to my mom. First off, that would have been sissified and besides, I never saw a cowboy on TV cry when he got shot, even if he knew he was gonna die. And second, if I told my mom I shot myself with my BB gun, she wouldn’t have any sympathy for me at all, and she would have taken my BB gun away from me. I don’t think I could have survived without a BB gun. I never went anywhere without my BB gun. Well, again, except for Church. I didn’t even have an argument for takin’ it to Church, because Jesus and them didn’t carry BB guns. Anywho, if I didn’t have one of my BB guns with me, I felt nekkid (that’s naked for you city folks and Yankees out there). You noticed I said one of my BB guns, didn’t you? I had several. Now-a-days, they probably would consider me some kind of kid outlaw and send me off to some headshrinker to find out if I would turn out to be a serial killer or somethin’. Back then, a kid with a BB gun was considered normal, and I was a normal kid. Well, I was a kid anyway.  

Now, I’m tellin’ y’all all of this, not only to let you know, that I was shot, but how I used bein’ shot to get girls. That’s what I said, to get girls. You see, back when I was a kid I was a girl chaser. The reason I chased girls is because…well, because they ran. Let’s just say I wasn’t the smoothest talker when it came to girls. But, that was before I got shot.  

Before gettin' shot, I would approach girls and say somethin’ stupid like “Hi. My name is Rusty. You sure are pretty. Would you like to hang out with me?” Then they’d say somethin’ like, “Ha! Not in a million years,” or “I’d rather hang out with a slug.” This was quite discouraging to say the least. But, after I shot myself, everything changed. I changed and I discovered the new “me” by accident.  

So, after I shot myself I dug the BB out of my foot with my knife. Yes, I had a knife as a kid. Back then I had over 20 knives. Better hide your children; I’m still on the loose.  

Anywho, after gettin' the BB out, my foot was really sore. It hurt to stand on it. I knew I couldn’t go home or mom would ask what happened, ‘cause when I told her whatever it was that I thought up to tell her, she would know I was lyin’ and my foot wouldn’t have been the only thing on my body that was sore. That’s right people; they used to whip kids back then. So, instead of goin’ home, I jumped on my bike and road down to Cope’s Country Store. I figured Mrs. Cope would let me recuperate while sittin’ around listenin’ to the old men that hung around in there.

“Hello Rusty,” she said as I walked in.  “Do you need some BB’s?”

“No Ma’am,” I said.

“Are you okay?” she said.  “You’re not sick, are you?”

“No Ma’am,” I said. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, I don’t ever think I’ve known you not to need some BB’s.”

“I’ve got plenty,” I said. “I just want to hang around, if that’s okay.”

“That’s fine with me, but if those men back there start using ugly words, you let me know, okay?”

“Yes Ma’am,” I said. Ugly words were what women called cuss words back then. Sometimes one of those old men would let one slip and Mrs. Cope would raise Cain. I never told on them though. Heck, if I did that, then they wouldn’t have let me hang around. Plus, I was always lookin’ to expand my vocabulary.

I started toward the back of the store where the men hung out, when I ran into a girl I knew at school. This was a girl who wouldn’t normally give me the time of day.

“Hi,” I said as I walked past her. She looked up, but didn’t say anything. I walked on past, or I should say, limped on past.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“What?” I said.

She pointed at my foot. “Why are you limping?”

“Oh, I got shot,” I said and kept on walkin’.

“What?” she said. “Did you say you got shot?”

“Yeah,” I said. “It really wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“Wow!” she said. “I’ve never known anybody that has been shot before.” Then she moved closer to me. “Can I see?” she asked.

“See?” I said.

“Yeah, can I see where you got shot?”

“I guess,” I said, and I raised my foot.”

“That looks nasty,” she said.

“I know,” I said. It looked better before I dug it out.”

“You dug the bullet out yourself?”

“Bullet?” I said. Then I realized that I not only was carrying on a conversation with a genuine girl, but she was interested in what I was sayin‘. “Oh!  Bullet!  Yeah, I dug the bullet out myself.”

“I bet that hurt,” she said and she moved closer.

“A little,” I said, “but I was bitin’ on another bullet while I was doin’ it, because that’s what you do when you are diggin’ out bullets.”

“Aren’t you worried about gettin' it infected?” she asked.

“Nah,” I said. “I let my dog lick it after I was through. A dog’s mouth is cleaner than a human’s, you know.”

“Wow,” she said and then her mother called her. “Well, I’ve got to go. It was nice talking to you. Maybe I’ll see you at school,” and she left.

I just stood there for a while. I really didn’t know what happened, but whatever it was, I liked it. In fact, I liked it so much, that I got to where whenever I saw a girl I automatically started limpin’. A lot of those girls probably think I still limp to this day. Heck, I still do.

All Rights reserved 4/18/2002