“Could you hold this for me?” my brother asked as he held out a wooden board. We got two brand-new slingshots a week prior. My brother, who seemingly got bored with shooting at the large oak tree on our front lawn, posed the daunting question.

 

“Is that safe?” I asked.

 

“Doesn’t matter, just hold the board.” His response gave me no relief, but I took the board from his hand anyway. 

 

What could go wrong? A statement I often told myself while getting into bad situations. I walked through the garage toward the middle of the driveway where my brother wanted me to hold the board. My head hung low as I walked across the greasy garage floor. Even with self-affirmations that everything would be okay, nervousness filled my body. 

 

“What’s gonna happen if you miss?” I asked, standing still in the middle of the garage. 

 

“Nothing. If I miss it will go over your head, as long as you duck behind the board.” 

 

Something about this response clicked with my young mind and calmed my nerves. He’s right, as long as I duck behind the wooden board and he misses high, it will never hit me. 

 

I continued to walk to the spot my brother had designated as the place where I would hold the target. A drop of water fell on me as I stepped out of the garage. I peered up and studied the sky for a bit, a dark gray color filled the dome over my head. It seemed the sky was trying to warn me of my impending misfortune. I ignored the obvious signs of danger and continued to walk to the spot my brother had pointed out.

 

A dusty patch of concrete nestled between both of my parents' cars. We will get in so much trouble if we hit the cars. The thought of the repercussions that we would face stalled me for a bit, but the thought didn’t stop me from getting set up. I watched my brother leave the garage and walk to the pit of rocks near the porch. It always amazed me how many rocks were in the pit. No matter how many we shot with our slingshots, we never reached the end. 

 

“Oh yeah, this one is perfect!” he yelled as he held up a small stone. He tossed it to me so I could examine the projectile before he fired it at me. Its rich brown color and oval shape made it pleasing to look at. I threw the stone back to my brother, who dropped it, a common occurrence for him. I had faith in his abilities even with his lack of coordination.

 

I picked up the board that I set down. Its splintered edges dug into my hands as I gripped it. I laid vulnerably on the cool concrete and extended my short arms forward. I held the board tightly, making sure it would not fly out when struck. I pressed my nose hard into the ground. There is no way I’m going to be hit. I’m completely covered. 

 

The draw of the cheap slingshot and the creaking of the wood hit my ears as he put his whole strength into it. A tinge of fear hit me as he yelled, “Ready!” I nodded my head as I squeezed even harder. Whoosh, no other sound followed. I glanced up at my brother, confused as to what happened. 

 

“I missed, I have to go find another rock.” I eased up on the board, excited that nothing catastrophic happened. He rushed back quickly from the rock pile. I caught a glimpse of the new stone, a jagged tan rock that could have been mistaken for an arrowhead. 

 

He returned to his station ready to take another shot at the target. Confidence built as I held the board in my hands. Since the last shot had done nothing to me, I felt invincible. I extended the board again. This time, instead of jamming my face into the ground, I ducked it just enough so I couldn’t see my brother anymore. Whoosh, the shot came with no warning this time. It missed the board again, but not enough to miss everything. I dropped the board and held the top of my head. I shot up out of my stance and stared at my hand. A deep red color covered every part of my hand.

 

I sprinted past my brother, his expression grim as he knew there would be consequences. I reached the door, tears filling my eyes, and flung it open. My mom stood in the kitchen making lunch. She turned around to see where all the noise came from. When she saw my head, she rushed over to me. 

 

“Oh my gosh, what happened?” she said as she led me to the sink. Sobs filled my throat making me unable to get a single word out. 

 

As my mom treated the shallow wound, I began to calm down. My mom questioned me again. I described the harrowing situation from the first posing of the question up to the second shot of the slingshot. 

 

“That was a stupid choice wasn’t it?” my mom said in a scolding tone. Why am I the one getting yelled at? I just got shot! I couldn’t comprehend that I had brought the situation upon myself. My mom let out a sigh with a frown and asked, “Where is your brother?”

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