Shots Fired! Well, Sort of.

When my dad knocked on my bedroom door this morning and told me he wanted to speak with me I started getting that feeling. You know, that ominous feeling like, “Oh crap, now what’ve I done?” Which kind of surprised me because it’s not like I’ve ever been in a situation with my dad where he’d be all, “BAD girl! BAD!” to me. Of course, when I thought about it I had to laugh because it came out a-la Cartman from South Park when he shouts at his kitty, “No kitty, this is MY pot pie. BAD KITTY!”


(click on Cartman to listen to what I mean! *giggles*)

Anyway, So about an hour later I finally made it over to talk with Dad. I sat across the room from him sipping on my Crystal Light while he sat in front of his computer. Thankfully, all he wanted was to see how my siblings were doing. He mentioned how bad he felt for not keeping in touch with them as much as he’d like and blah blah blah… you know, the usual good-dad stuff (‘cause he’s rad like that).

It was while we were just chatting about the sibs when we heard the shots. The noise was so loud that I shut up immediately after the first shot and looked out his window towards the noise. We could tell it was close. Then I made some comment like, “that doesn’t sound good.” A few seconds later, after hearing four or five shots in a row my dad jumped out of his chair and said, “That’s gunshot!” and he started hurrying towards the door. I stood and listened a little bit closer, knowing that my dad is also half-deaf (literally) due to his years of firearms experience. “No, that’s FIREWORKS,” I managed to say before he left the room. But he didn’t hesitate and went out onto the front porch to see where the noise was coming from.

Sure enough, across the street and two houses down we could see a plume of smoke rising and a surprising amount of little popping noises (is that called “report?”) accompanying it. At 1pm on a relatively sunny day. “Fireworks,” was all Dad said as he pointed to the plume of smoke rising above the neighbor’s house. He went back in about 30 seconds later, mumbling something about how that was his “Marine friend’s house.” So he got his shoes and socks on and headed on over to check things out.

By this time I was so amused by the whole thing that I was kind of hoping that it was something bad. I know, I’m terrible. But we rarely get any excitement in our neighborhood! My brain kept sifting through the endless possible scenarios of what might’ve really happened. Like, what if the house was on fire and it accidently set off some old fireworks the neighbor had been storing? Or what if someone was trying to cover up the sound of gunshot by setting off the fireworks? Or (*gasp!) what if it was some burglar setting off a booby trap in the Marine’s house?! Ooooh, what if the Marine neighbor (who I’ve never seen before) was like a modern-day urban Rambo/Mr. T and he was teaching some fools a lesson? Dang, that’d be AWESOME!


(Don't mess with Mr. T!)

Aw, but no such luck.

When my dad finally got back he told me that the Marine wasn’t home, but the woman who lives next door to him was. Turns out that it was just some dorks setting off some huge fireworks on the golf course that our neighbors’ houses border on. Why they decided to set off the fireworks directly behind some houses is a mystery to me. And the best part of the story? Apparently when the neighbor lady went out to see what the heck was going on she heard some man eventually say, “Well… I guess we should get a broom.”

Der-Dee-Der.


(This photo can be found on DeviantArt.com. Just click here to see!)