Danny and I "borrowed" Dad's 22 pistol and hurried down to the river to see how many fish we could catch. Like ya right, we were going fishing. I guess if you call throwing cans in the river and shooting at them as they float by "fishing" then we weren't lying. Danny was in command and was plinking away at the cans as I threw them in. At last I decided Danny had shot his share of the bullets and it was now my turn.
"Gimmie the gun right now, it's my turn," I ordered trying to sound as bossy as I could.
"No, I'm older and I get to shoot more than you," smiled Danny with a look of superiority.
"I'll tell Dad you took his gun without permission if you don't give it to me right now," I warned.
"Go ahead big tattletale."
"Hand it over right now!" I yelled reaching up to grab it from him. Then a struggle ensued with me trying to grab the gun away from him. You would think I would have learned something from the "knife hacking incident" several years back, but I guess not.
"Knock it off you idiot. Don't you know how dangerous it is to fight over a gun? It could go off and kill someone," he ordered as he lowered the gun. Then, "BAM" it did go off for real! He had unintentionally pulled the trigger and fired the gun. His face immediately grimaced in pain and he started howling like a coyote at a full moon.
"Ouch, damn it hurts!" he cried, "See what you've done. Now I'm probably going to die!"
I was in shear terror and white as a ghost. I followed him as he limped around, asking him where it had hit him and begging him not to tell Dad on me. Like for sure, Dad wasn't going to find out. His son had just shot himself and needed immediate medical attention and I wanted to keep it a secret.
"I think it went through the bone," groaned Danny staring down at his leg in agony. By now I was willing to do anything, but oh no, Danny had a good thing going here so he kept it up.
"It's all your fault you stupid kid. You shouldn't have been trying to grab it from me. Now I might not ever be able to walk again.
"What are we gonna do? We can't tell Dad, he will kill us," I said terrified of the future.
"I don't know but you better let me lean on your shoulder and help me walk back home or I might bleed to death before we get to a hospital."
I immediately became a volunteer crutch and started walking slowly back home.
"I don't see any blood or hole in your foot. Where did it hit you?" I said becoming a little suspicious.
"Gosh, haven't you seen the movies? Sometimes it takes a little while before blood spurts out all over," he answered trying to hide his smile.
"You're lying, you didn't get hit. Take your shoe off and let me see your foot," I ordered.
"OK, help me sit down," he said dragging it out as long as possible.
He carefully untied his shoe and grimaced in false labor as he pulled it off. He then began thoroughly looking for a bloody hole, or a missing toe, or even a scratch. But he searched in vain. When I finally realized it had been a setup, he began rolling in the dirt laughing at me. I was eying that sixshooter and getting ready to make a jump for it so I could show him what a real bullet felt like.
After he had laughed himself sick, he sobered up and said, "No, serious though, I thought for a minute that I had shot my foot because it just went off accidentally. It must have been a close one cause it was aiming right at my it."
"Well you almost gave me a heart attack you idiot," I said relieved at not being implicated in a murder.
"Well, that'll teach ya not to be grabbing guns anymore now won't it?"
I guess it did....for a while anyway.