Friday, June 20, 2003
GOING HUNTING, Sex and Lies continued... Saturday, June 14, 2003
We were driving from Boston to New Jersey. Pete had the rifle in the back of the van. It was Thanksgiving and deer season in Jersey. At the time, my folks lived on the side of a gravel road in Mine Hill. There was a dense wooded area behind the house.
My dad never went hunting as far as I know, but when he met Pete his testosterone level seemed to rise. He became interested in hunting equipment. He bought these professional hunting bows and a big target on a tripod that he set up where the yard met the woods. The bows seemed huge to me. It took incredible strength to pull the string back far enough to send the arrow into the target. My younger brother and I humored my dad and gave it a try. It seemed pointless to me. My brother was no athlete. I can't remember if he managed to hit the target, but I certainly couldn't. Mom didn't venture out of the house. She was safely ensconced in the kitchen with the turkey.
As in most things athletic, Pete wowed the family with his ability to get a bull's-eye nearly every time. Even after a few beers, his aim stayed true. After dinner, it was still light enough out to go hunting. It was doe season. I think they had gotten a special license that only permitted hunting doe for a few days. Pete got out the rifle and wanted me to come with him. Everyone else stayed home.
We walk into the woods behind the house. Pete gives me a lesson in hunting. The idea repulses me but my curiosity is peaked. He trys to teach me how to walk without making noise. Then there is the gun. He wants me to shoot it. I've never even held a gun before in my life. I don't want to but he says I should learn how to use it so I won't be afraid. It's heavy. I have trouble raising it to my shoulder. He shows me how to aim and tells me about recoil. I'm pretty nervous. He helps hold up the barrel while I aim at a tree. Pull the trigger he says. Pow! my ears are ringing and the shock to my shoulder almosts knocks me down, but I didn't fall. O.K., that's it, i did it once and don't want to again.
He still wants me to tag along. It was a beautiful late fall afternoon and the woods seemed so benign. We are walking very slowly. Pete's got the gun at his side. I almost forgot what we were there for. The low setting sun sent deep shadows acoss the leaf covered ground. Pete stops stock-still. So do I. I look to my left and see a deer staring right at us about 50 feet away. The deer looks like a statue, frozen in place. It is a doe. At this distance it is a sure shot for Pete. I am standing to his left. He slowly raises his rifle to his left shoulder and takes aim. My heart is pounding. My arm flies up and pushes the gun straight into the air. It goes off, the deer turns and disappears. Pete never takes me hunting again.
We were driving from Boston to New Jersey. Pete had the rifle in the back of the van. It was Thanksgiving and deer season in Jersey. At the time, my folks lived on the side of a gravel road in Mine Hill. There was a dense wooded area behind the house.
My dad never went hunting as far as I know, but when he met Pete his testosterone level seemed to rise. He became interested in hunting equipment. He bought these professional hunting bows and a big target on a tripod that he set up where the yard met the woods. The bows seemed huge to me. It took incredible strength to pull the string back far enough to send the arrow into the target. My younger brother and I humored my dad and gave it a try. It seemed pointless to me. My brother was no athlete. I can't remember if he managed to hit the target, but I certainly couldn't. Mom didn't venture out of the house. She was safely ensconced in the kitchen with the turkey.
As in most things athletic, Pete wowed the family with his ability to get a bull's-eye nearly every time. Even after a few beers, his aim stayed true. After dinner, it was still light enough out to go hunting. It was doe season. I think they had gotten a special license that only permitted hunting doe for a few days. Pete got out the rifle and wanted me to come with him. Everyone else stayed home.
We walk into the woods behind the house. Pete gives me a lesson in hunting. The idea repulses me but my curiosity is peaked. He trys to teach me how to walk without making noise. Then there is the gun. He wants me to shoot it. I've never even held a gun before in my life. I don't want to but he says I should learn how to use it so I won't be afraid. It's heavy. I have trouble raising it to my shoulder. He shows me how to aim and tells me about recoil. I'm pretty nervous. He helps hold up the barrel while I aim at a tree. Pull the trigger he says. Pow! my ears are ringing and the shock to my shoulder almosts knocks me down, but I didn't fall. O.K., that's it, i did it once and don't want to again.
He still wants me to tag along. It was a beautiful late fall afternoon and the woods seemed so benign. We are walking very slowly. Pete's got the gun at his side. I almost forgot what we were there for. The low setting sun sent deep shadows acoss the leaf covered ground. Pete stops stock-still. So do I. I look to my left and see a deer staring right at us about 50 feet away. The deer looks like a statue, frozen in place. It is a doe. At this distance it is a sure shot for Pete. I am standing to his left. He slowly raises his rifle to his left shoulder and takes aim. My heart is pounding. My arm flies up and pushes the gun straight into the air. It goes off, the deer turns and disappears. Pete never takes me hunting again.
