Friday, March 30, 2012

Revenge is a Dish Best Served to the Proper Person

Late one evening a few years ago, when I was younger and foolish, I was walking home from a buddy's house after spending most of the day helping him fix his car. I was taking a shortcut along the train tracks running through a seedier section, which isn't saying much, of my small town. I was walking along the loose rocks next to the rails, when I hear voices from the backyard of a nearby house.  There are a lot of trees and greenery in the back of all these houses, probably to block the sight of the train tracks, so I couldn't see anyone, but I distinctly heard a few voices and it sounded like they were just joking around with each other.  No big deal.  As I get closer to the voices, I hear one person say "Get the gun," followed by the sound of someone running, and then a screen-door slamming.  It's very dark out, and I haven't been making much noise, so I have a hard time believing that whoever these people are that they are "getting the gun" for me.  However, though I didn't think I was in any immediate danger, when you hear someone say "get the gun," you begin to consider the pressing matter of self preservation. 
I move to the far side of the tracks, opposite of where I'd been walking, and I'm nearly in the backyards of the people on that side.  I'm just a little ways now from where the voices originated when I hear a cracking sound splitting the silence of the night.  Instinctually I dropped into a crouch.  In a second or so it takes me to recover my senses, I realize that the noise I heard didn't sound like a real gun.  I stand and look in the direction f the noise, but it's too dark to see much besides trees and bushes.  Suddenly I hear another crack and this time it's quickly followed up by a ping sound from the train tracks just in front of me.  Inwardly I say screw this and I take off running.  When I do I hear laughter and shouts.  I chance a look behind me and see a small group of guys around my age, teenagers, running down the tracks after me, and one of them is holding some sort of rifle.  As I run a rock or two flashes past me before hitting the ground and tumbling to a rough stop.  I put forth a burst of speed and duck into someone's backyard.  I'm almost decapitated by a clothesline, seeing it just in time to duck, and I keep on running.  I'm out to the front yard and a dog in the house is going wild.  I'm pounding down the street, and chance another look behind me.  Nothing, the idiots with the pellet gun, which is what I decided it was, either having lost me or given up.  I run most of the rest of the way home, and arrive at my parent's house shaking with fear and anger. 
Now the part after having matured a few years that I'm not proud of.  After having recovered my nerve, an hour or so after the chase, I'm just angry.  I want to get even.  I wait a coulple more hours until well after midnight, and return to the scene of the incident. I very quietly find my way to the place I encountered the assholes, make sure that no one is in the backyard, pick up a couple of rocks and chuck them through the back windows of the house.  I break two windows in just a couple of seconds and then run across the tracks, through someone's yard, onto the street, and back home. It wasn't until I was lying in bed, that a panicked thought hit me.  Was that the right house?

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