My Officer's Gun

Reads: 529  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic

A true story of my day spent crouching on the floor of my house while my neighbour shot a gun at his girlfriend and police were stacked out ready for a shoot out, outside my front door.

I opened my front door and found myself staring down the barrel of a gun. Thankfully, or not, it was being held by a police officer. The idiot next door had unloaded his gun into his girlfriend’s car as she sped away and the police were swarming my semi-detached house, waiting for him to re-appear. I was just trying to go out for pizza but obviously, it still wasn’t a good time. Earlier that day, an officer had told me that these modern homes have thin walls and indeed bullets go through them quite easily, so it’s best I remain on the floor of my living room or better yet, he said, crouched in my basement, where hopefully the cement there would keep a bullet at bay. I opted for my first floor after battling a disgusting silver fish in my basement laundry room.

 

This officer with the gun had been startled by my opening the door and had swung it around and pointed it at me. I instinctively held up my hands and then grinned like some moronic cartoon character. The last time I had seen a gun, I was holding it but that one shot blanks. I had a role on some forgotten little show for which I did a guest appearance. I played a man killing prostitute. Even on set with a gun handler and the director taking me through the paces, I hadn’t turned it around to look down the barrel. Bruce Lee died that way, said the handler. Now it’s in the union rules not to look down the barrel or hold it to your head in play.

 

Today, I had practically wet myself when faced with this weapon. The officer, who looked as scared as I was, then waved his free arm frantically and said to get back inside and stay down. I slammed the door and hit the floor again. How much longer was this going to go on?

 

The novelty of this unusual day had worn off around noon when I crawled to my kitchen to confirm that the fridge held nothing of interest. That was when I first began fantasizing about pizza.  A little while later, I crawled to the phone to let my agent know I was house bound and would not be able to make my audition later. Typical of the people in my business whose bottom line relies on your bookings, she asked if there was a slim chance I could crawl upstairs to do my hair and change and then ask for police protection while getting into my car to make my audition.

 

At that point, I was merely annoyed with my neighbour. Though his constant shouting had been a nuisance before, I didn’t know he was capable of this. Hours later, I began to feel blasé about this event, as I peeked out my window while on my knees. Then, starving, I graduated to standing upright and went for the front door. But now, with a gun pointed in my face, I thought it best to make do with suspicious looking leftovers on the bottom shelf of my fridge.

 

I’ve had plenty of time to acknowledge the dust bunnies under my sofa and ponder getting a new area rug as I lay on it and picked out the escaping threads. I’ve admired the autumn leaves in my window, as they were the only things I could see from down there. I’ve discovered yoga is not half as effective without the downward dog pose, as I fear getting my rear end shot off if I try. I’ve wrecked both thumbnails scratching dried paint drops off the hardwood too. Now I’m just bored but with the forceful suggestion of the officer outside my door, I’m back on the floor with a stack of well thumbed magazines beside me.

 

I doze off briefly while reminiscing about my childhood spent in the Quebec countryside, riding my own horse with nothing to listen to but the wind in the trees and the odd tractor rolling by. We never locked our doors at night. The police shouting again into a bullhorn and television crews wake me what seems like moments later. I switch on the TV and watch it from the floor.

 

Around the time of the six o’clock news, as I’m watching the report on what’s happening at my home, the same officer knocks on my door. His gun is now holstered. He introduces himself as Rick and says they’d given up their stake out hours ago. My neighbour seems to have gotten away and they think he might run for the airport. Rick thought of me here on my floor only after he’d written his report at the station. If he hadn’t been so charming and handsome, I may have thought the whole day wasted. Now he’s asking me with a smile on my face, if I’m ‘into a game of cops and robbers after a dinner out with me and am I available anytime soon?’ I find myself flirting back. Maybe it’s the uniform or maybe it’s because he’s trying so hard to make up for pointing his gun at an innocent civilian but I tell him I promise not to tell anyone about that and agree to Friday night at 8, if he leaves his gun at home. I’ll consider the handcuffs later. 


Submitted: August 23, 2013

© Copyright 2021 SonyaRed. All rights reserved.

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Add Your Comments:


Facebook Comments

Other Content by SonyaRed

Short Story / Memoir

Short Story / Memoir

Short Story / Memoir