Ready, Aim, Fire

The twinge that sneaks its way down my right thumb as I chirp on BBM is unwelcome. I pause and twiddle my thumb experimentally. I chirp some more. Uh oh, it wasn't a 'bekayda' moment and my brain tosses out RSS in frantic tones (less than a week in Singapore and I'm abbreviating like a local!).

The intention was to do something about my absolutely appalling aim (the instructors voice laced with exasperation that melts into disbelief, "the two that went by" in response to my innocent "at what?" query when asked, "why didn't you shoot?" is a whole different story), and attempt to correct my abysmal co-ordination of leading eye vs aiming arm, but it turned out to be love at first touch. It's been just over two weeks since my first encounter with a .22 air pistol, the shock at how good it felt to hold it, how easily it fit in my hands, and how I could so get used to its heft. Oh my God. My wide eyed excitement turns to pure lip licking appreciation as a single shot knocks off the test target. One indulgent man and one credit card swipe later, I'm hugging the gun in it's box with accouterments and an extra box of ammo.

Anaheeta's backyard is the venue for my first lesson, and the dogs bark from a safe distance before disappearing altogether. A wise decision as my attempts zing all over the backyard, ploughing into the stalwart tree holding my target which remains benignly unmarked. The experiment to use my left hand to go with my stronger leading eye is clearly not yielding the kind of results I'd like. A shift with a concentrated effort at keeping the right eye open instead of the left (you may smirk, but some of us are blithely unaware that what you're aiming at when your leading eye is shut, is always well of the mark!) is called for, along with a paper target that allows my teacher to see where my attempts are hitting the few times they're not going astray. He's good. Patient, encouraging, sneaking in only a few flawless shots to demonstrate (and play just a teeny weeny bit, but watching him does help my stance), and fullsome in his praise when I actually hit the target. It works, and I get steadily better, leaving nature eternally grateful.

I'm informed that it's time to try hitting a coke can. Oook. It's one thing to hit a big white target (and that too, not too many bulls eye moments), but a coke can?! I grit my teeth and sigh in frustration as I miss not just the coke can, but the big white sheet of paper and the even bigger whiter thermacol backing. I can almost hear the tree groan in exasperation. For the love of God woman! At least hit the big white thing or me! Shooting master is unfazed, and then suddenly I hear the sound of a faint ping. I'm thrilled, but the voice beside me tells me I've only just grazed the can. Dammit! A few more near shaves for the can of coke and then suddenly, a solid thwink and a fizzy fountain of coke sprays in both directions like a well timed little fountain. HAH! I actually hit the damn thing! I'm ecstatic and it takes all of my willpower to stop grinning and take aim again. I hit it several more times and feel so pleased with myself, I yield the gun without a murmur as teacher takes a shot. Not only does he look hot doing it, his one attempt knocks the friggin' can off it's perch. God Damn It!!

Like a junkie, I'm unable to stop, and the first time I knock that can off it's perch, I can't keep the exultant cry from escaping. I hear the deeply satisfying thunk as the can gradually gets bent out of shape and feel like a star. The master decides it's time to reduce the target and lays the can on it's side. Fucking brilliant. I whine and insist there's no way I'll be able to hit it. My first attempt takes too long and my aim wavers. I start over, and squeeze the trigger. It's a hit. Damn! He looks smug. I'm shocked. "Do it again", he says. Miraculously, I do. And again, and again. My thumb is numb from cocking to load, and it has to be done for me. Pathetic. Almost as pathetic as all the times I'd loose the pellets on the ground coz I'd hit the release while holding the barrel against my thigh to cock the pistol. My neck frizzes a gentle reminder that my shoulders are being grossly violated. The last few bullets and I hit the now heavily abused can only 2 out of 5 times.

Still, I feel like Rambo and ready for a weeks worth of decimated cans. The euphoria lasts for all of 12 hours before my neck, shoulders and right hand do a passable imitation of rigor. Apparently, spending an entire morning and bits of the afternoon firing off over 200 rounds as a newbie will do that to you. Clearly, lesson 2 will have to wait a bit. The question is, will I have to start all over or will my body remember and pull it together to take a can off it's perch at 10 feet the first time? $64 question. A guy I once dated told me that I'd like golf. I think I finally understand what he was trying to say.