About to Shoot Me In the Head
Nightmare | March 10, 2007
I'm on my way out when they grab me and push me down into a chair in the vestibule. Beefy guys in black suits, black sunglasses. Identical-looking too. Police or security or special agents — whatever. They want to know why I was taking this bag I did not walk in with. I say...
“So it told you I had made friends with this guy. Knew he was some sports star like basketball or baseball or something. Everyone knew he just partied now and did lotsa drugs. I was at his house for some mellow party and got to know him and later came back for visits. He's just a really cool guy and easy to talk with. Lots to say but also listens too. And we'd just sit around and chat. So i brought those computer parts a few days ago and and we talked about upgrading his system. Now I show up and he's dead and everyone is wearing black and whispering about how he died in some weird way and that creeps me out. I just wanted to pay my respects to a guy I was only beginning to know, and on the way out I see that bag of parts. I pick it up and you guys go nuts! Okay, maybe they could be his but what would he need them for now? And I prolly got receipts for all this stuff anyway. I wasn't here to steal! Maybe I woulda taken something more valuable than a bunch of old computer parts! Hey stop that! Fuck man!"
They were shoving me now, both of them. Shoving straight out with both palms, like angry robots. The first shove sends me flailing backwards and falling hard against the closed door. I get up and push it open and they shove me hard again and I stumble through the door and fall on the cement skirt, still clutching the bag of parts. They are marching after me, shoving as they go, crazy looks on their face. I throw the bag at them and scream something and just sprint in terror for my van parked along the building.
The hot dirt and gravel crunch under my feet. I can hear them behind me. I'm sweating now. I yank open the van door with a slippery palm and jump in, fumbling the key into the ignition. The van coughs to life and I stamp the gas to rev the engine as I crank it into drive. In the rear-view mirror I can see one of those suits pulling a gun from his shoulder holster and aiming it right at the back of my head through the rear window. He was smooth and steady with the motion, no rush, like he never misses, like he's done it a thousand times and can do it in style now. The van is tearing up the dirt now but only slowly moving as the wheels spin. He's aiming the gun at my head now. I can feel the sweat pouring down my scalp. The other guy is just standing next to him with a fierce look on his face. They are framed in the mirror. He is about to pull the trigger. I'm about to die.
“I got my first yes!" she screamed. I am suddenly, violently awake. Anita is running around like a headless chicken squawking about getting a first yes and the horrible nightmare is still fresh on my mind. The guy was going to shoot me in the head. Blood and brain all over a shattered windshield. Anita comes running back up to me and yells into my face that she got her first yes. Apparently this was about signing on a new distributor and would be a good thing. And I suppose that waking me up from that horrible nightmare was also a good thing.