Shots of the Past

Shots of the past

The day I’ve been dreading is here.  My mom and I are getting in my dad’s police car.  The less than five minute drive from Marion to West Memphis is lasting forever.  I simply want this to be over with.  We are finally getting out, and the huge arena is standing before me.  As I look out into the parking lot all I can see is police cars.

We are starting to walk inside.  As we go through the doors, I realize I’m holding my breath.  The vision of police uniforms and people blur my eyes.  It’s here the funeral.  As we sit down, I look around and realize this arena that holds so many people is filled.  All of these people are here for my uncle.  I turn to look at my dad and I see tears forming in his eyes.  I began to cry.

We are loading back into the car once again, beginning this dreadful drive to the graveside.  Looking out my window I realize how long the precession actually is, the sea of cars go on and on for forever.  Getting closer makes me dread this even more.  Taking deep breaths help with my nerves.  The worst part is about to begin.  The sharp piercing noise of the bag-pipes jerks my attention back to reality.  The preacher begins to talk and I zone out, trying to avoid what’s going on.  A loud army style “attention” snaps me back once again.  Here it goes.  The twenty-one gun salute, the most heart wrenching ritual at a police officer’s funeral.  The first round of shots goes off and my heart jerks, I instantly feel the tears sting my face. 

My mom and I are standing on the front porch watching my dad and Uncle Bill run around the yard chasing an almost six foot long snake.  Bill lets out what sounds like a war cry.  He comes around to the front yard dragging this snake with my dad following close behind.  Dad and Uncle Bill begin dragging the snake down the road to dispose of it.  All of a sudden the snake comes up and snaps at Uncle Bill.  He drops the snake and takes off running while screaming like a little girl.

I feel my dad’s arm around me, and the second round of shots goes off.  The tears flow even harder, I clench my eyes shut.   

I am sitting in my room, when out of nowhere I hear this loud noise coming from outside.  I look out my window and there is Uncle Bill and his prized possession, his tractor.  I’ve been waiting to drive the tractor for years.  I run to my mom and scream “Momma, Momma, can I pleassee ask him if I can drive it??”

Before she could answer, I hear knocking at the door.  I whirl around and I see Uncle Bill at the door.  I run to the door and open it as fast as I can, the words flow out of his mouth like music to my ears.  “Wanna drive?”

The third and final shots ring in my ears, piercing the air around us.  I hold my eyes even tighter, trying to fight back the tears.

My neighbor and I are driving down the road picking up election signs.  She receives a phone call and her face turns pale white.  I look at her searching for answers.  Her voice comes out like a whisper, “There’s been a shooting.”  I immediately start asking a thousand questions.  Finally, after what seems like an eternity she says “It was your uncle”

All I can think about is my dad, I call him and as soon as he answers he says “I know, it’ll be okay, we’ll make it through it.”

The dreadful twenty-one shots are over.  They leave us with our heart on our sleeve.  My mom, Dad, and I walk together hand in hand to his casket to say our final goodbyes.  Like my mom said, we’ll make it through this.