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“I'm just nervous. That's all. Let's do this.” I have no confidence in myself at all, but I trust Gabe, especially with this.
He nods and leaves to go set up the target. There's a post about the height you would use for a fence, and he tapes it to a board that's nailed to the post. He also places two stacked cans of soda on top of it. Gabe walks back to me, grabs the shotgun, the largest of the guns on the table, and tells me to get the earmuffs.
My eyes widen, my jaw hanging down by my knees. “That's what you're starting me with? A shotgun? Are you sure?”
“Yes, stop questioning me.” He doesn't snap at me like I was expecting. Instead, his words are gentle and sure.
I grab the protective earmuffs and follow him. He stands a couple yards from the target and points with the tip of his foot where he wants me to stand.
“You're going to want to stand like this.” He has his left foot ahead of his right as if he's trying to use his legs to anchor his body better. It also tilts his body towards
the right a little. Once I assume the same position, he continues, showing me as he explains it. He lifts the shotgun so it rests on his shoulder. “This is how you'll hold it, okay? This part will rest right here on your shoulder, and you'll use your left hand to hold it right here.” I nod, my hands trembling slightly. “The earmuffs will help with the sound. Put those on. It's loaded, but the safety is on. I just want you to hold it, okay?”
I swallow hard again, but nod. Pushing my anxiety away, cramming it into a corner, I hold the gun like Gabe was. It's heavier than I expected. Gabe's voice is muffled as he tells me to hold it like I'm about to shoot it. He moves to stand behind me, his arm coming around to point at a green thing on the end of the barrel.
“You'll use that to aim. You want this to be a little lower than the spot you want to hit. I want you to aim at the cans. Are you sure?” He asks tenderly, reaching out to place his hand over my still shaking one on the barrel.
“Yep. Just let me focus for a second.”
With a long, slow drag of air, I close my left eye and concentrate on the bottom can. The gun's weight doesn't seem too heavy, and my nerves are forgotten, but it's not comfortable on my shoulder.
“It feels kind of awkward.”
“What do you mean?” He asks.
“On my shoulder, it feels weird, uncomfortable.” Gabe comes around, looks and tells me to move it inward a little. “That's better. What now? I'm ready.”
“Turn off the safety by pushing this in,” he shows me where near the trigger it is, “then pull the trigger.”
“That's it? You're not going to tell me what to expect?” I need to know, so I won't freak out when whatever happens happens.
“I'm going to be behind you because it's going to recoil into your shoulder. It's not bad, but you've never done it before, and I don't want it to scare you too much. This piece on the end will absorb most of it.”
I nod, reposition the shotgun on my shoulder once more, turn off the safety, and aim. I don't notice that Gabe is standing behind me as I focus. For about thirty seconds, he waits until I finally pull the trigger, barely feeling the recoil. Adrenaline pumps through my veins hard and fast as the bottom can explodes.
Holy.
Shit.
I hit it! Before I can get too excited, Gabe tells me to pull a piece back, flinging the empty shell out, and push the safety button from the other side to turn it back on. He takes the gun from me and then I take off the earmuffs.
“Did you see that?” I ask excitedly. “I shot, and it exploded!”
Gabe chuckles. “I saw it. That was amazing. You took your time, which is the girl in you, and you nailed it.” He holds up his hand, and I give him a high five with a laugh, the rush still running through me. “Let's go look at the damage.” Gabe lays the gun back on the picnic table before taking my hand, leading me to the post.
The top can was knocked over, but is still intact. The can I aimed for, however, is destroyed. There are little holes all over what's left of it, and there's one huge gaping hole missing, causing the can to only be in tact from the back. Gabe points to one of the little holes.
“Inside the shell, there are a bunch of little pellets. When you shoot a shotgun, those pellets are released and fan out. That's why they are all over the place.”
“I don't care about the technical stuff, Gabe. Sorry,” I quickly add. “But can I do it again?” I rock on my heels from excitement.
Gabe laughs. “See, I told you that you would like it.”
And boy, do I. Gabe puts the leftover can on top of the post, and we return to where we were standing. Just as before, I take my time to steady my excited, frayed nerves, aim, and then slowly pull the trigger back with my finger, the rush swirling and swooshing through me powerfully before it even goes off. It happens rapidly, but the can explodes just like before.
“Are you sure you've never done this before?” Gabe's faint voice rumbles through the earmuffs.
I laugh. “Positive. Can I try one of the other ones?”
