MARCH 2008 PROJECT
by
Doris Ray

Word: Flight
Question: What do you mean, it's your mother's fault?

“What do you mean, it's your mother's fault?!!” thundered Old Granddad; the sparse hairs of his mustache gleaming like tiny silver spears in the afternoon sunlight. A smoldering handrolled cigarette dangled precariously close to his small patch of bristly grey chin whiskers. Family rumour had it that a drop of Native Indian in the old man's bloodstream accounted for his inability to cultivate a decent crop of facial folliage. Nobody had ever really asked him about it. They had just guessed.

“You come home from hunting with a bullet hole in your brand new shoe,” Old Granddad's voice was now dangerously low. I should belt your skinny ass I taught you better 'n that... A rifle, even a 22, needs to be respected. You coulda lost your foot if your mother hadn't allowed for extra grow room when she bought those expensive brand name runners!” His voice had risen in intensity and I knew he was thinking about the money wasted.

Old Granddad was getting antsier by the minute. He was fumbling with his belt buckle again. I had to come up with good excuse to save my twelve-year-old butt from a strapping.

“Well, you see Granddad....” the tones of my newly acquired masculine voice suddenly cracked and I was left chattering in a childish squeak. “You see Grandad, Jimmy Jones and I were sighting our rifles in after school yesterday when mine jammed. But I didn't know it'd jammed. I just thought the shell I'd put in was a dud. I remembered you once said that happened to you?” I glanced plaintively at Old Granddad but the expression on his face didn't allow for any male bonding at the present time.

“It was getting cold 'n Jimmy was wanting to go to his house. So I took a marking pen from my school bag and wrote a big 'x' on the back of my hand to remind me to check the gun later. Then today, there wasn't any school.... So after finishing all my chores I went looking for rabbits or grouse. I saw some ducks in flight on the other side of the big slough and thought I might catch one close to shore if they came down for a swim. So I had to hurry through the bushes. My gun barrel was pointed straight at the ground, just like you taught me.... but then it got caught up in a willow branch and went off.”

I thought I could detect the faintest glimmer of sympathy in Old Granddad's eyes.
“Why blame your mother?” he asked.

“Because she insisted I wash my hands before supper last night,” I replied. “It made the 'x' disappear...”