Gotta Get Me a Gun
Brad Wilk
A barrel of a .38 wedged into the base of my neck; the hooded intruder nudged me into the bedroom. Rolling out a swivel chair from the computer desk he stuck the barrel in the small of my back, pressed down my shoulder and forced me to sit. By the only window in the L-shaped bedroom, he opened the dresser, snatched a pair of dotted briefs from the draw and stuffed them into my mouth. Yanking the phone off the night stand, he ripped the cord from the jack and wound it around my head and waist, until every bit was used. “Much better” he said, pulling on the cord, kissing my cheek, “You talk too much and I don’t like talk, talk makes me nervous”
When he left the room I tried to squirm free but the cord was too tight, digging into the skin of my bare arms, not giving an inch. Pushing off the bed post with a free foot I rolled towards the window and tried screaming for help but the only cry was in my head, a muffled, pitiful moan that nobody would hear. I rolled back to my previous spot, not wanting to raise suspicion. I tried to think, to somehow develop a plan: my gut felt impending death: it sensed he was near the end of whatever crazy thoughts had piled up in his head and I felt I had to do something or he would unload on my head, my chest and God knows where else.
I heard, “Please no, please don’t do this” coming from the living room. So absorbed with escaping, I had forgotten about Hannah. Am I man? What about you’re woman? I made another futile attempt to break free of the cord, then, intent on doing something; I guided my way into the living room using the tips of my toes.
In the living room, everyone was there: my buddies, my parents, my closest relatives and of course my girlfriend Hannah. “Surprise”, they screamed as Hannah jumped on my lap and gave me a wet kiss on the cheek. “Very funny” I mumbled through the underwear, “You got me good” But all I could think about was buying a gun, something small and effective, just in case, because I hated surprises and that feeling of helplessness I felt just moments before.
