TAKING ONE FOR THE LORD

TAKING ONE FOR THE LORD

I don’t know why I took the family station wagon that night. I usually drove the much more fuel-efficient “Perdiddle” on out-of-town trips. Maybe it was because I was tired of its “skate-board-with-a-motor” feel.

I was on a high council assignment to visit the youth program of the Kingfisher Branch, about 2 hours away. I entered town from the east, passing the city limit sign. Just beyond the first intersection I was shaken to the core by an ear-splitting THWACK! The rear-view mirror revealed that the back driver’s side window had been suddenly transformed into a wall-to-wall spider web, emanating from a surprisingly symmetrical chip almost in the middle.

I somehow made it to the rented IOOF hall where the branch met near the western city limits. The evening went well – I felt welcome and appreciated. After the meeting the branch president walked out to the car with me.

“Holy Guacamole! What happened to YOU?”

I told him.

“That’s a bullet, my friend.” He was a rancher and quite familiar with guns. I am not. The tightness in my stomach returned full force. “Holy Toledo. You need to go by the police station before you leave town. I’m serious – this is nothing to just let go. Here, I’ll draw you a map.”

The police chief himself was on duty that night. The branch president must have called, because I was met outside as I pulled up.

“Holy [bleep]!” He exclaimed when he saw the window. “Where were you exactly when that happened?”

“Just coming into town on [Highway] 33.”

“From the east or west?”

“From I-35.”

“East. What time?”

“Let’s see. Oh yes, I did glance at the clock on the dash. 6:34.”

“The 911 call came at 6:37, from a neighbor, according to the police report.”

“Police report?!”

“Come here, let me show you something.”

We walked down some outside stairs and into the basement where the jail cells were located.

“See that piece of [bleep] in the far corner over there?”

All I saw at first was a pile of dirty rags. As my eyes adjusted a human form, obviously sleeping one off, gradually emerged amongst what turned out to be torn clothing.

“This [bleep’s] wife was between him and the front window, which faced the highway. He emptied his revolver at her. She was hit four times. She’s dead. He missed twice. There are two bullet holes in the window.

The knot in my stomach tightened into nausea.

“You’re one lucky s.o.b., you know that? Half second earlier, coulda been the front window and your head. C’mon, let’s go add your story to the report.”

I didn’t have any trouble with drowsiness on the way home that night, let me tell you.