Blind Courage

“C’mon, ladies. The doves are not going to care how you look,” Macdonald says to David and me. We’re putting on our boots. “Gotta put on my boots in case I get carried away with one of my long-distance specialties and got to hike,” David responds. We all get our stuff together and start walking out the front door. I’ve got my baby, my Browning, cracked over my shoulder. Then everyone starts to split up. I lag behind with Uncle Mitch. Everyone starts shooting. Doves are flying everywhere, dipping and ducking. Some start to fall. “Count it!” David exclaims. Two start to fly over my head. I take my two shots and miss both. Bad start. “There’s a dollar. Man, missed those cherries, MoJoe.” I reload and see another coming my way. I shoot one this time, and it folds over and crashes to the ground. “Got that one. See that?” It coasted awhile and landed fifteen feet from Uncle Mitch’s feet. “No bird boys tonight. You got to pick up all your birds.” “I will. Want to get that one for me?” He picks it up, and we work our way down the road some more and head toward the fields. I find a nice field where I can watch birds come in, and I can pick birds that Uncle Mitch and David miss. They set up camp on the other side of the road. “Behind you, Mojesha!” David and Uncle Mitch say. I jump around and hit one of the flock, and the remaining two fly over David and Uncle Mitch. They nail them both. “They have no chance coming off that field,” I tell them. Two more fly in. I see them from a hundred yards out. I mount slowly and line up my gun. Bang! Bang! Thump. Thump. Got them both. “I’m going to get those ones, Joemo,” David says. “Sorry, my Browning doesn’t miss.” I get to be a little cocky when they actually see my greatness. Two more fly in, and I drop one ten yards down the road into a bush. I start heating up. I’m shooting over 50 percent—very easy to calculate with my over-and-under, two-shots-at-a-time shotgun. It starts to get late, and the sun starts to set. It’s barely over the horizon at this point, so we start to pick up our doves. I walk down to look for the ones about ten yards or so away. More shots are still going off by the house. A flock of doves flies on the road; I see them twenty yards to the right of me. I know both David and Uncle Mitch are across the road, so I’m going to mount but wait for them to turn left away from them. I mount. One passes David and Uncle Mitch. I line up. I pull the slack out of the trigger. I’m ready to totally waste it after it passes them. Bang! I stumble backward. I drop my gun. I didn’t shoot. What happened? Whoa … I’m so lightheaded. What happened? Whoa—wait … what? Everything is so bright. Is someone taking a picture? It’s not going away. Wait. I can’t see. Dang … it’s so bright. “Get Sal!” “Hurry!” What? Why am I so dizzy? Who are they talking to? “Shit. You okay?” Are they talking to me? “I didn’t see you. Can you hear me?” What happened? I felt like a bus hit me. I don’t hear the Suburban though. There were no vehicles. All I see is white. Where did everyone go? Did my life really just flash before my eyes? Is that the crazy bright lights? Man, I’m dizzy. “You okay, Joe? Can you talk? Do you know where you are?” someone asks me. Why do they keep asking if I’m okay? “I think so … What happened? Did I get that one? Did I shoot?” I ask. “Oh man. I thought you were still down the road some in your original spot. I’m so sorry, Mojesha. Oh man, I’m sorry,” someone that sounds like Uncle Mitch says and then grabs my shoulders, holding me up. “He needs a tighter choke. He should have been using a tighter choke.” Someone that I think is Macdonald is talking about Uncle Mitch’s shotgun, I assume. “Tighter?” “Yeah. You’ll be okay though. Don’t worry,” Macdonald says. Don’t worry about what? We work our way toward the house. Oh. I can’t see. I’m totally relying on Uncle Mitch to guide me. We go into the bathroom, and they tell me to wash my face. I use the washcloth they give me and get some water and rinse my face a little. Whoa. My eyes are tennis balls. I touch my arms, and it feels like I stuck them in a beehive. There are lots of mini volcanoes up and down them. I notice my left ring finger is completely numb. I’m still very dizzy and disoriented. I think I may have been shot … Holy crap, I’m shot! Uncle Mitch shot me? All of these volcanoes are the BBs. I was just shot by a shotgun. Holy crap! My eyes too! Uncle Mitch needs a tighter choke? That means the shot would be more concentrated, so more would hit me. Would that have killed me? What did Macdonald mean? I can’t see. “I think we have to go to the States. I don’t want to hesitate and let it get worse. We can’t stay here. He needs to be seen,” Uncle Mitch insists. “Okay, I’m ready for whatever needs to be done. Whatever you guys say,” Sal tells us. y“I’m going to call border patrol and tell them we need to get over the border quickly.”