The Barrel of the Gun

At age fifteen, I had two good guy friends I spent a lot of free time with. I was new to friendship with guys however as before that age, none had ever given me a second glance. Matt was one of the guys, and we dated for a brief time. I adored him, he was so easy-going and so sarcastic, we were perfect for each other. His best friend Mark was the other guy, quirky and strange at times, a slight contrast to Matt's easy-going nature. They were best friends though, so usually where Matt went, so did Mark, therefore the three of us were together quite a bit. One day I ended up at Mark's parent's house alone with him, though the exact reason has been lost to me. His parents had a normal mid-sized family home, but he, like myself, had a room in the basement. If his fairly strict parents had been home, I assumed I wouldn't have been allowed to follow him down the set of rather old wooden steps. In the soft light of the one bare ceiling bulb, I let myself gaze around inquisitively, as I did in any new environment. It had that slightly musty feeling that most basements have, and was carpeted in a shaggy outdated blue shade. The ceiling was unfinished, with all the support beams visible and serving as storage to various odds and ends. It was also home to quite a few cobwebs, giving the appearance that Mark was left to tend the housekeeping of his own space. The main area at the foot of the stairs looked to be used as a home for forgotten and obsolete household items. As I idly stared at a few wispy webs clinging to a neglected lampshade, Mark reached up to an exposed beam and dislodged a long slender object. It took me about half a second to recognize that the object he was retrieving was a rifle.

I had never actually seen any kind of firearm up close before, so a fair measure of shock and awe rushed through me with a tingling chill. That tingle instantly became a silent scream of protest, as Mark raised the rifle, aiming its single barrel directly at my head. He stood a mere three feet from me, an arm cradling the polished wooden stock and finger on the trigger, appearing like he might actually know what he was doing. I didn't move, and didn't make a sound, concealing my increased nervousness. I'm not sure if it was my stubborn nature, but it seemed incredibly important to me to keep my cool. It was difficult. I had never ever been comfortable thinking about guns, and now I had one targeting me.
"Do you think it's loaded?" was Mark's question for me, his stance unwavering.
At those daring words, anger raced through me like fire over dry timber. I narrowed my eyes at him, staring right over the grey steel tube and into his ice blue eyes. I was determined not to play whatever game he was trying to start.
"No," I bluffed, sounding a lot more sure than I actually was.
The hard truth was I didn't really know him. I had no way of knowing if he'd be dumb enough to pull down a loaded weapon and aim it at me point blank. It was a rather bad time to come to that realization I guess.
Then just as suddenly as he had drawn the gun on me, he swung the barrel down to point harmlessly at the carpet covered cement. His face radiated his disappointment. So my first instinct had been right and he was looking for a reaction. I was glad to disappoint him. I was also enraged at being put in that position. I suppose I could have taken that moment to berate him for his stupidity and bold attempt to scare me. Instead, I decided to go with the 'revenge is a dish best served cold' philosophy.

I delivered my cold dish about a week later. I waited until I was precisely sure that Mark had forgotten about our little basement encounter, and with Matt around to witness my actions, I set my simple plan in motion. The three of us were just casually hanging out, on route to the corner store for junk food.
"Hey Mark, lift up your arms for a sec," was my seemingly innocent request to him.
He gave it little to no thought, and obligingly raised his arms above his head. In that same moment, I pulled back my arm, fist clenched tightly, and sucker-punched him with all my fifteen year old girl strength squarely in the gut. The audible whoosh as some air was forced out of his lungs on impact, was extremely satisfying.
Needless to say, as Mark wrapped his arms around his sore gut, both boys were more than a little stunned by my actions. Poor Matt had no clue, I had never told him about the rifle incident. That didn't stop him from grinning at such a bold move by his girlfriend. He actually seemed impressed.
"whaa wha what was THAT for??" Mark stuttered indignantly, a scowl forming on his reddened face.
"For being stupid" I told him, glaring right back. He might have got it, he might have not, but I never felt the need to offer further explanation.