The Family Fang - Kevin Wilson [13]
Buster considered the beer and then looked at Joseph. “I don’t know,” Buster said. “It would make for a good article,” Kenny said, “either way.” Though Buster could not reject the truth of this statement, he found that he could not will his legs to move. Joseph took the gun off of his shoulder and offered it to Buster. “You can shoot me, instead,” he said, “that would be a good story too.” Buster began to laugh but he realized that Joseph was serious. “It’s okay,” Joseph said. “I’m pretty sure you can do it.”
“It’s a rifled barrel,” said Arden, “it’s pretty damn accurate.” It dawned on Buster that they were all spectacularly drunk and yet operating at a fairly high level of awareness. Their judgment was impaired, admittedly, but Buster felt himself believing that there was logic to their actions. Buster assessed the situation. It was a distinct possibility that he would hurt someone, but he could not be hurt; he felt immune to whatever disaster might try to attach itself to him. “I’m invincible,” he said, and everyone else nodded in agreement. Buster grabbed the beer and began to walk away from the other men. “Don’t miss,” he shouted over his shoulder, and Joseph replied, “I won’t.”
Buster was shaking so hard that it was impossible to balance the can on his head. “Give me a second,” he yelled. He closed his eyes, forced his lungs to take in deep, sustained breaths, and felt his body begin to go numb. He imagined that the doctors had just taken him off of life support and he was dying in slow increments. Finally, he was dead, and then he took another breath and, all of a sudden, he wasn’t. When he opened his eyes, he was ready for whatever would come next.
It was beginning to grow dark, but he could clearly see Joseph bring the gun into position. Buster closed his eyes, held his breath, and, before he realized that the gun had been fired, a gust of heat and wind passed over him and deconstructed the beer can atop his head, the sound of something irrevocably giving up its shape and becoming, in an instant, something new.
The soldiers shouted and exchanged high fives and, when Buster returned, took turns roughly embracing him, as if they had just rescued him from a cave-in or pulled him out of a dark well. “If I was any happier,” Kenny said, “I would combust.” Buster pulled free of their arms and snatched the last unopened beer from the cooler. “Again,” he said and, without waiting for an answer, ran into the growing dark without fear, every single part of his body overwhelmed with the task of being alive.
When Buster awoke from unconsciousness, he saw, with some degree of difficulty, Joseph’s face hovering over him. “Oh god,” Joseph wailed, “I thought for sure that you were dead.” Buster could not turn his head and his vision went in and out of focus. “What’s going on?” he asked. “I shot you, goddamn it,” Joseph yelled, “I shot you in the face, Buster.” He heard Kenny shout, “We’re driving you to the hospital, Buster, okay?”
“What?” Buster asked. He understood that people were shouting but he could hardly hear them. “It’s pretty bad,” Joseph said. “My face?” Buster asked, still confused. He moved to touch the right side of his face, which was numb and on fire at the same time, but Joseph grabbed his wrist to stop him. “You probably shouldn’t do that,” he said. “Is something wrong with it?” Buster asked. “It’s still there,” Joseph said, “but it’s not . . . correct.” Buster made the decision, which took some degree of concentration, to go back to sleep, but Joseph would not allow this. “You