FF: That Time I Shot My Cousin

I grew up on a 40+ acre ranch on the beautiful Central Coast of California.  My family had a home, my cousins' family had a home, and my paternal grandparents also had a home on the Ranch.  

Growing up on the Ranch provided opportunities for great adventures when we were small.  With my siblings and cousins, we spent hours burrowing hide-outs in the uncut barley, hiking up the hill to the water tower (to admire the pretty rocks surrounding it), having tea-parties under the pine trees, playing in the mud at the "pond," enjoying the bounty of a 70-tree orchard, using nails to scratch faces onto over-abundant squash (turning them into well-loved "squash babies"), and riding our hot wheels down too-steep hills.

Me, Sean, & Paul playing in the barn

One gorgeous California day, my cousins, Paul and Christie, and I decided we were ready for a bigger adventure.  Paul and I were in 4th grade, Christie just behind us in 3rd, so we felt we needed something a little more daring.  We put our heads together and determined that a hike down the nearby stream would be a perfect choice*.  

The term "stream" might be overly generous, as it had, at-most, a trickle of water at that time of year.  It also didn't actually run through our property at all, but we didn't see that as a problem.  We received permission from our parents, packed a light lunch, and set off on what we were sure would be an exciting journey.  Paul convinced his mom he needed to bring along his BB gun, "in case we saw any snakes."

Our hike downstream was enjoyable.  We revelled in the thrill of exploring new surroundings and doing so independently.  We hiked and played until we got to a fence with a "No Trespassing" sign, had our lunch, then headed back towards home.

Around 4th grade age

Regrettably, our return trip took a more unpleasant turn. We didn't see any snakes, but Paul determined that our feet made equally appealing targets.  There was a lot of arguing and fighting.  Somehow, Christie and I managed to get the BB gun away from Paul, but he found sticks with which torment us.  

Before long we arrived at the foot of the long driveway up to our houses, and the drama persisted.  Christie took the gun and cocked it.  Then she gave me the gun.  We moved our way slowly up the hill.  Paul continued to threaten us with sticks, so we countered with a threat to shoot him.  He egged us on, "Okay then!  Shoot!  You wouldn't dare!"

I clearly recall aiming the gun.  Looking down the barrel.  Hearing the taunts.  

Pulling the trigger.

I expected to miss.  I expected the BB to bounce off his shirt.

Instead, Paul dropped to the ground, writhing and screaming.  

I thought he was joking, but he pulled up his shirt and there was blood.
I dropped the gun and ran.  Back down the driveway, down the length of the dirt road, then up the pasture to my house, where I hid, trembling and sobbing, in our storage van.  

I heard the phone ring and my Dad answered.  "Mmm-hmmm... she did WHAT?!...  No, I haven't seen her."

I must have eventually come out of hiding.  I was shocked to discover that Paul had covered for me, said that it had been an "accident."

I don't recall getting in trouble beyond a lecture.  Paul lost privileges with his gun for a long time.

Turned out Christie had "pumped it up" eleven times, which is what gave the BB the "oomph" to penetrate Paul's shirt and skin.  Shortly after this incident, we went to the beach and Paul's chest still was black and blue where I'd hit him.  

Truth be told, I don't think I needed any punishment beyond what I gave myself.  I was tormented by  my decision to pull the trigger for years.  I had nightmares.  I refused to touch another gun until I was 19.  I still feel terrible about it, though I think Paul has forgiven me, since he really likes to tease me about it.
*My cousins might have very different memories of this day.  I don't claim to have a monopoly on the truth of what happened.  This is just how I remember it!