Some People Get Hit By A Bus

“Pain is just weakness leaving the body. It’s all in your head. Just push through it.” That all sounds good, till you get shot in the gut. Pain hurt like hell. It was for a good cause. That’s what I kept telling myself as the blood kept soaking through my shirt. I hadn’t intended on getting shot. Most people don’t. The thing I intended on was getting laid and winning back the girl who was crying as she held pressure on my stomach wound. I could see the quick rise and fall of her chest and she tried not to hyperventilate. I didn’t know much about her father when we started dating. He seemed like a nice man with a funny accent. She said he was a good man, but a man of the old world. We couldn’t tell him I was dating her. I didn’t care. She told me she loved me, and that was enough. I thought it was, for a while. Then one day it wasn’t. She was standing there, kissing another man in her doorway. I listened to him talk. He was from the old world, just like her father. She was promised to him. There wasn’t a choice in the matter. It was fine. No, it wasn’t fine. This was the new world and people couldn’t do that. It made me feel damned stupid. I felt that way for a while. I think that meant I still loved her. Three months later, I had put the memories away. Locked in a box, deep downstairs, where the pain belonged. She still haunted my house at night, when I couldn’t sleep. My only consolation was the ghost got dimmer with each new morning. Then the phone rang. I answered. Her soft voice spoke with sadness. “ I miss you. Please come over. Use the window.” I felt really stupid the whole way over there. Her neighborhood had been getting rougher, so I strapped my pistol to my hip, just like the policeman taught me in the class. I felt stupid climbing up the tree to her room, that dumb pistol I’ll never have to use getting caught on branches. I felt stupid when I saw her, dressed only in one of my Rolling Stones tee shirts and nothing else, walking over to me so meekly as she gently pressed her lips to my ear. “ I’m so sorry. I love you. Make love to me?” I wanted to feel stupid. I wanted to yell at her, and crush her spirit for breaking my heart. But that was the pain talking. That was my pride telling me to leave. I should have listened. But I couldn’t hear anything. Not with her right in front of me, the scent of her body making my brain swim. I could never tell which end of the world was up when I was with her. I didn’t care. I grabbed her into my arms and kissed her, our clothes off in moments. My mind lost in the moments, the tastes of our bodies as we reacquainted ourselves with each other. Each touch a moment of tenderness and frustration, the desperation of an apology and a declaration of forgiveness and desire. It was five hours later that her father woke up. That was a mistake on my part. We used to have alarms set for me to leave early, nothing but a kiss at the window and promises that we’d meet again. I was too off guard this time to think that through. Too in love with the moment and the girl. Her father opened the door, telling her it was time to get up. He took one look at us on the bed and screamed in a rage “ You whore!” He walked out of the room. We didn’t have long. “ Get your clothes on. We need to get out of here.” I said, pulling my pants up and greatful for the weight of the pistol on my left hip. “ No, just let me talk to him…” She began, but I stopped her. “ He’ll kill you if we don’t leave now.” I told her. Her father walked in with a pistol aimed at her. He was fast. But not like me. My aim was a little off. I was gunning for his heart, but got his lower left side instead. Not enough to stop him. His aim was better than mine. The bullet landed somewhere in my gut. I had just enough adrenaline to raise the pistol and aim it at his head. His brains were painted over the bedroom in graphic acrylic, the bits of the old world scattered and useless amongst the dust. The adrenaline was soon gone. So was the strength in my legs. I stumbled backwards against the bed, pistol still in my left hand. I could hear her on the phone with 911. They were in route, ETA approximately eight minutes. I would be lucky if I had five, the way the blood was soaking through my shirt. She held me close as I started to fade. She told me how it was all her fault. That she didn’t love him, and how much she wanted to be with me. When this was all over, we’d be together. I wanted to respond, but honestly that seemed like a lot of work. Everything seemed to slow down a notch, which was fine. The pain was gone. I wasn’t feeling stupid anymore. Yeah, I was dying over a woman. A silly thing to do. Still, there were worse ways to go. Some people get hit by a bus. The End