Waving Not Drowning VI: Shooting is deceptively easy

I missed the first couple of tries.
The rifle was heavier than expected, especially after holding it up for forty minutes. It took all my effort to hold it steady and guide it outside the half open window. Pulling the trigger and hitting a moving (albeit slowly) target seemed impossible. And another issue was not knowing where to start; at this point I hadn’t got one particular person in mind. As far as I was concerned they were all pretty much a waste of space. But even if I’d wanted to kill them in cold blood, I wasn’t a good enough shot to get anywhere near their heads which were obscured with grey hoods or massive curly ponytails. Besides what I really wanted was to injure them. And take as many of them down as I could. Take them all down! That was important. I didn’t want to hit one and then have the others look up and see it was me waving a rifle in the air. Then there’d really be some trouble.

Apparently most people are happiest when they’re in a state of ‘flow’. I’d never really had reason to believe or disbelieve this idea. Not until now. Now I was definitely inside that ‘flow’. It was like painting a picture. Or composing a great piece of music. Time was irrelevant and the past was forgotten. All that mattered was that I got the kids in the legs, the feet, maybe the back of the arms.
I felt my mouth growing dry but was so absorbed in watching them that I didn’t move.

Then I saw my opportunity. Grey came into my field of vision; he was prancing about on top of a bench, doing some sort of modern moonwalk manoeuver so I aimed the rifle at the back of his lower leg. His trousers were so baggy it was difficult to see what was body and what was clothing but somewhere in there was a leg and that leg was just about to be penetrated by a small plastic pellet as big as a piece of sweet corn. I held my breath and pulled the trigger. The rifle made a rather unimpressive pinging noise and for a second I thought nothing had happened but then I looked down and Grey was lying in the courtyard groaning and grabbing at his calf. The others were still smoking and lounging about. Their reaction time was so slow with all that mobile battery fluid and stuff so I took full advantage and aimed this time at Nice Eyes. I went for his arm except the moment I’d pulled the trigger he crouched down near Grey to see what was wrong with him and then I heard the ping noise and he started waving his hand violently in the air like he was greeting an old friend coming into the courtyard but his face was all contorted. Then he rolled onto his back and rolled around. I watched them flailing about like a couple of dying fish. At this point Grey was making a lot of noise. He was definitely crying and it was strange to see this small, impassive, sullen boy being so worked up for a change. It also made me feel sorry because he looked much more like a child than a very tired old man. I’d like to say that this moment of sorrow stuck around but it didn’t and I took aim at one of the girls who was sitting on a wall with her back to me. It was the one who’d said she wanted me to die of a verruca but it was too late because both girls were now running out of the courtyard and up the road. One of the other boys, Triple Bellies perhaps? was filming Grey and Nice Eyes on his mobile as they lurched about on the concrete. I quickly stood up, checked no one in the other flats had seen me, unloaded the remaining pellets and shoved the rifle down the back of the sofa. Then I went into the bathroom to wash my hands.

Was I feeling guilty? Not even a little bit. I studied myself in the bathroom mirror. My pupils were slightly larger than usual but aside from that I looked my everyday café barista self. There were no swastikas on my forehead. No blood swimming about in my eyeballs. I hadn’t mutated into Charles Manson. I slapped some cold water on my cheeks and went to put the kettle on. Then as the kettle was boiling I went back into the front room and looked out the window into the courtyard below. I was taken aback to see it was totally deserted. No Grey. No Nice Eyes. None of the silly old slags that usually hung around. Where had they all gone? Oh well, it had done the trick then.

I went back into the kitchen, sat at the small plastic table, made myself a cup of tea and then sat at the small plastic table again. I stared at the tablecloth. It had small ladybirds all over it. Little ladybirds that if you looked closely were just like little people. One little ladybird was playing with another one. They were throwing aphids at each other, just doing the normal things that modern little ladybirds did to pass the time. And then wait, what was that? There was some big fat, old mean ladybird and she didn’t like what the little ladybirds were doing. She wasn’t happy and was just up for hurting things. And now there was one of the small ladybirds… he was laying on his back, his small black abdomen was heaving up and down. Then his small friend keeled over onto one side and his little shiny legs were spinning in the air. Both of them were panting and turning and trying to stand upright but they couldn’t. And all I could see was the big fat ladybird, the old one sitting there watching. Wrong in the head Ladybird. Many books would be written about the evil things she would do. Her campaign of hatred would ensure that from that day forward Ladybirds around the world would be reviled. Mothers would pour boiling water on their nests rather than encouraging their children to put them outside on the rose bushes.
I ran into the bathroom.
All the tea came rushing out of my nose and mouth as I stood hunched over the toilet.

A situation like that would make the average person in the street fancy a drink or two. So it wasn’t really a surprise that that night was the night that I fell off the wagon after two years, three weeks and two days. Tea really wasn’t going to cut it. Neither was a reality TV show and an early night. After wiping my face with a flannel (now my eyes were red and I did look like Manson) I picked up my mobile, shoved it in my handbag with my purse and keys and ran out the door. It was probably for the best to get out for a bit, what with me having shot two teenagers with an air rifle, there would be police sniffing about in no time. That was if they told the police. Perhaps they wouldn’t. But I wasn’t thinking logically about what was going to happen next and there wasn’t a clear plan in my mind. I simply needed a big glass of wine. Maybe a bottle. Maybe two bottles and then a couple of chasers.
Then I’d be able to sleep.

The Station pub in Latimer Road is one of those pubs where it’s difficult not to stand out unless you’re one of certain type. Lots of media, photographers/actors/writers. Girls with very straight hair and thin French bean like legs. Men with black rimmed glasses and the beginning of pot bellies. Like a uniform really. And here was me, a red-eyed killer Ladybird with tea dripping off her face. What I really needed was a proper old men’s pub, somewhere where I could slide into the background and slowly anesthetise myself.

I ordered a bottle of Merlot and one glass and then took it back with me to the least conspicuous sofa situated in the left hand corner of the pub. In front of me were two drunk secretary types and then up on the pedestal seating area to my left was a middle aged suited bloke on his own sipping on a pint. I quickly looked away. Men loved crazy psycho women, women who had rifles shoved down the back of their sofas and the last thing I needed was to take anyone back to the flat. That would only draw attention and I’d probably blurt everything out. And anyway I was no Thelma or Louise. It wouldn’t happen again.
As soon as I got home I would dispose of the rifle. Take it into work and shove it into the rubbish bins.
I’d just have this one bottle of wine. Then stop drinking. Ha bloody ha.

I’m not going to evangelise about how good that first gulp of wine tasted as it slid down the back of my throat. Needless to say I quickly poured a second glass and felt my head unlock. The doors flew open and everything became very clear. Drinking was wonderful! God how I missed this. Constantly having to think, worrying about every little thing when you could just have this lovely warm floaty feeling and nothing mattered and everything would come good in the end and really this was what it was all about. I sipped and gulped. Sipped and gulped. The pub was filling up now and a boring looking office threesome tried to sit down at the table.
‘I’ve got a friend coming’ I lied.
I could tell by their faces they didn’t believe me but I didn’t care. The music grew louder and louder and as I looked around the room everybody seemed to be shouting at everybody else. It was ridiculous. I needed another drink just to cope. I looked at the bottle and realised it was empty which was a record as I couldn’t remember ever having drank a bottle in under an hour but then these were special circumstances and it was clear that if I was never going to drink again I needed to make sure tonight was a complete showdown.

As I went to stand up I sort of leant over to one side like an elastic band had been pinged at the back of my knee. I quickly realised I was already drunk. One bottle was enough to finish me off! God how Ruth would laugh. But then I realised that of course Ruth wouldn’t laugh at all, she’d be mortified and full of sorrow because here I was in a pub on my own swooning and swerving about ready to go from drunk to completely incapacitated. Then someone caught my elbow as I tried to extricate myself out from behind the biggest, most unwieldy frightening table I’d ever seen.
‘You okay?’ a voice said.
I looked to my left and the beer-sipping bloke from earlier was standing right next to me holding onto my arm.
‘Fine,’ I said and pulled my arm away.
I had that crazy bloke attractor thing about me. No that wasn’t right, I was a psycho bird attractor. No wait.
‘You look like you’re having lots of fun,’ he said loudly as he followed me towards the bar.
The bright coloured lights of the optics bobbed up and down.
‘Push off,’ I said.
But of course he couldn’t hear me because the music was deafening and I’d only really mumbled it into the top of my cardigan.
‘Can I buy you a drink?’ he shouted.
‘Push off,’ I repeated this time louder.
I’d reached the bar and was dithering about whether to move onto spirits or more wine. Spirits would provide some sort of crescendo. Wine would finish me off pretty quickly.
I asked for a Malibu and Coke (it’s like a pudding really) and kept my shoulders hunched up as big as I could so that the bloke couldn’t squeeze in next to the packed bar.
‘Celebrating something?’ I heard him say.
This bloke wasn’t going to give up unless I told it to him straight. I turned round.
A round, tired face looked back at me.
‘Look, I don’t want to talk to anyone tonight,’ I said as loudly as I could muster, ‘I’ve had a bad day and all I want is one large Malibu and then I’ll be off home to bed on my own,’ I leant in towards his right ear ‘I’ve just been let out of the Looney bin. And I like girls. And I collect taxidermy.’
The man laughed.
‘I quite like taxidermy. It’s all the rage now isn’t it?’
I shot two teenagers and don’t know whether I killed them or not.
Squashing past him, I went back to the small sofa in the corner. My small sofa of comfy alcohol bliss.
Luckily he’d gone by the time I looked up again.
Thank God for small mercies.

After another three Malibus, things had gone from really quite ecstatic and over the moon to a much more solemn affair. The true magnitude of what I’d done was hitting home. Visions of prison, lumpy mashed potato, butch women who wanted to beat me up, polyester overalls that chaffed all the time swam before my eyes. It was clear that I had to turn myself in. Maybe if I went straight to the police I could say I’d been drunk. Surely they’d let me off the hook? Oh god what was going to happen? Ten years? Fifty? I’d never work in a coffee shop again! I put the empty glass down, gathered my coat and handbag under my arm and swayed towards the door. Like a pinball I ricocheted from left bump to right bump to left table bump to right shoulder bump. Finally ending up outside in the cool spring air. I took a deep breath and started walking as quickly as I could back to the flats. The air would do me good.

I’d like to say that had I discovered that Grey and Nice Eyes had been seriously injured I would have turned myself in. But I can’t be completely sure. And besides the whole debate that was raging in my head was made redundant as I got to the entrance to my flat and saw the two of them sitting on the wall opposite, the wall with the graffiti on it. Grey had his tracksuit bottom leg rolled up to above his knee and what looked like a giant bandana wrapped around his calf. Nice Eyes had pulled his top over his hand. I waved before I had time to stop myself. They both looked over at me. Neither of them moved or said anything. Did they know I’d been the one who’d shot them? Had one of their mates seen me leaning out of the window?
Then Grey shouted across the street.
‘Hey Check Yo’Self.’
Oh god. They were going to beat me up. And I felt so drunk that I wouldn’t be able to feel any pain which would be a good thing on one level but also terrible because I'd have no idea how badly I was hurt. And wouldn’t be able to co-ordinate getting to A&E. And alcohol made you bleed all over the place. I smiled weakly.
‘How’s Check Yo’self?’ Grey asked.
I realised it was a question. My street name was ‘Check Yo’self’ , he had given me a nickname!
‘Fine thanks,’ I shouted back but I was actually feeling sick and wanted to get up the stairs and push all the wine and the Malibu up out of my stomach and resume normal non-alcoholic service as soon as possible.
‘How are you two boys?’ I said, not sounding dissimilar to Julie Andrews or a really sad supply teacher trying to be cool.
‘Not good,’ Grey said.
Nice Eyes didn’t look up, he was just stroking his palm and staring at it.
‘Sorry to hear that…well goodnight,’ I called and the key was in the lock, door open and I was running up the stairs two at a time.
Once inside I had no time to think.
Luckily the toilet seat was up and all I had to do was open my mouth.