Another shot at the essay class--excerpt from Below Sea Level

“So Alex is afraid of guns.”

Eric finished another beer and tossed it on the ground. The Wasatch Mountains floated in the distance, an optical illusion from deep within the Bonneville Salt Flats.

Eric’s friend Trey, whom I’d just met, looked embarrassed.

“You’ve never shot one?”

“Just a Colt pistol and a Glock. Research for my anti-gun piece in the UW-Seattle paper. Boy, did that make me popular.”

“Too late for me to write my letter to the editor?” Eric laughed, heading for his Dodge and coming back with his prized .357 Magnum. His dare was unspoken but he knew I couldn’t resist. That drew him to me; my inability to resist a dare, regardless of what I believed was right. That was Eric, a walking dare.

“Trey,” he said, “step that can off thirty feet.” Trey took thirty uneven steps into the desert. He jogged back. It was cool for a June evening on the flats, but he looked warm.

Laying the gun on the grey suede seat where I’d accompany him home, Eric fished out three sets of hunter orange earplugs. He turned to me.

“Okay, here’s the safety. Slide this forward and you can’t shoot, no matter what. We want that off.”

Of course we do, I thought. I’d abandoned safety the day I met you.

“You cock it like any pistol—just like your cowgirl .22—by pulling this back as far as you can.” He winked at Trey.

“To aim, use the marks on the barrel. We ain’t shooting far so the bullet’s gonna travel pretty straight. Hold it with both hands, though, ‘cuz it does have a right good kick.”

“More or less than a Glock?”

“Worse, I reckon.”

I stretched out my hand.

“You’re shootin’ first?”

“Does it matter what order I humiliate myself in?” Eric flushed; Trey laughed.

Eric handed me the gun. It was heavier than the Glock. I released the safety and cocked it.

“Okay—careful…” Was he was worried about me or the gun? “This is a heavy gun with a very light trigger. It don’t take much pressure to go, so be ready.”

I found the can in my sights, held my breath, and pulled the trigger. The gun jerked my wrists, hard. The target spun and shot out ten feet. I slid the safety on and held it out at arm’s length.

“Next?”

“Son of a bitch, Eric, she shoots better’n you!” Trey shoved Eric, but Eric didn’t budge. Didn’t lose his cocky grin, either. That would go away only if surgically removed.

“Well, I guess we better see if she shoots better’n you, huh?”

Trey aimed carefully before taking his shot. The can didn’t move. He groaned.

“Sorry, man,” Eric said. “Did you bring your .22?” In one movement, Eric took the gun, raised it confidently, and shot. A chunk of salt flew up just inches from the can. Hit or no hit, I was impressed.

“Goddamn. Better get me a .22. Back to you, babe.”

The first time I knew I’d miss so I barely aimed. I was relaxed, with no expectations of success. Now, there was pressure.

This time the can jumped two feet in the air. Beautifully dramatic. I handed off to Trey.

“Shit,” he said. “I drank too many targets.” He passed off to Eric, who turned his head and spit out his Copenhagen. Stepping forward and squinting at the beleaguered can, he shot. The can sat undisturbed. Not so, Eric; though he worked to conceal it.

Taking more bullets from the pocket of his loose-fitting jeans—he was so lean that summer—he reloaded. Raising one arm, he shot, out of turn. The can jumped a foot and skidded out several feet. Eric was all teeth, smiling up to his brilliant blue eyes. His mustache twitched in delight.

Eric laid its weight in my hand. I raised it and shot—one-handed, like Eric. The muscles in my wrist snapped so violently I stifled a cry. The can shot into the desert as if kicked at close range. I no longer hid my delight. I had no idea I could kill beer before today. This, I thought, might come in handy someday. Eric hugged me close and rested his head on mine.

Roaring out of the flats, I grew fixated on the knowledge that these thirty thousand acres once hosted a lake the size of Lake Michigan—full of life. Hard to imagine that nothing would ever take root here again.