In my last post I made mention of fun tales about adventure and excitement that took place this last weekend. I am proud to announce that I am now going to share those very tales.
The first tale of mine takes us all the way back to Saturday afternoon where I recieved invitation to a barbeque. After leaving work at 4pm I drove the thirty minutes out to Rickreall. I may have been 2 and a 1/2 hours late but as far as I was concerned the party had just begun.
I walked through the doors of the Rust house and met Melissa sitting in a deserted living room with the sounds of gun fire coming from the field in the back. I could hardly contain myself with news of the cause- a shoot-out! Melissa quickly escorted me through the knee high tall grass to a mowed out section of the field where we found fifteen or so men scattered around a make-shift tent surrounded by guns, bullets the size of one of my fingers, and orange plastic disks.
As I walked into the group I could hear my name being called every which way, followed by the question, "So are you gonna shoot?".
I smiled and greeted, but was strong in my stand against complete and utter humiliation that would come if I took hold of one of those guns; I was absolutley adamant...But with Robby's firm tug on my sleeve I was off (still in protest) towards the field.
"Here", Robby said, reaching back to hand me his baseball cap, "it'll keep the sun out of your eyes".
"Robby, I really don't wanna do this" I said slidding my ponytail through the opening in the back of the hat, adjusting it straight.
Robby continued to ignore my protest and instead lead me in introduction with a very large slick black strapping piece of machinery.
"Robby, why are you giving me the biggest gun in the world?" I said, trying to muster up enough strength to keep the gun from wobbling out of my arms.
"Because this is my gun" he said.
"Oh, okay...", I said, because what he said sure did make a whole lot of sense- not.
Non the less I followed his directions, and took my place on the square wooden cut-out that he brought me to.
"Pull!" I yelled, fired, and missed. But the rush, the pulsing surge of energy that gets sent through every muscle of your body and the immediate retraction as if it was being sucked back out! Oh, the feeling if anything is worth the missed shot. So again I reestalished my position and yelled out the order, "Pull!"; and again I missed. I continued like this till about my fourth shot. I repositioned my footing, leveled the gun, and waited as the first shooter yelled, "pull". Finally I heard the wooshing sound of the birdie whip into motion and after the first shooters failed attempt I aimed my gun, fired, and devestated the disk into a dozen flying pieces. A roar went up behind me as I turned to Robby with curious eyes, "Was that me? Did I hit it Robby?!", but before Robby even had time to answer, the crowd behind him began yelling congragulations and excitment.
The thrill of it all was breathtaking, phenominal, stunning, overwhelming, boggling, simply undescribable.
The rest of the night went more serenly to say the least. I spent the last few hours of the evening and the first few of the morning lounging in a cushioned rocking chair watching old movies from the 60's and 70's with the Dixon girls, as the Dixon men occupied the master-bedroom with three large televisons all of which displaying the gruesome, grotesque, and unquestionably stunning effects of the phenoman better known as HALO. Reguardless to say, the night was spent, not intune with the dialogue that came from our television, but rather the dialogue that came bursting from the back room. "No! Don't do that!" "Wait! What are you getting out of the car for?!" "Dang it! I just died."
The night ended with the velvety hum of my car's engine as I followed close behind the tail lights of more experienced drivers, and with the welcoming call of my unmade bed.
My evening, less to say, was unparalleled.
(P.S. the second tale will be arriving shortly)