Page 31 of Our Own Light
“No, not really. Just, well, I like clothes. I like looking nice.” Ollie scrunched up his face. “I’m sorry if that’s strange.”
“Nah, everyone has their own things they like.”
Truthfully, Floyd really liked Ollie’s outfits, but he couldn’t make himself say that.
“Are you coming to church tomorrow?” Floyd asked. “It won’t be strange to wear a suit there.”
“Yeah, I think so. I hope that’s alright?”
“Of course.”
Which meant that, if Ollie kept coming to church, Floyd would see Ollie near every day. The possibility of being with Ollie so often filled Floyd’s chest with the most tender warmth.
Once the two reached the spot Floyd had picked out—a clearing free of trees and shrubbery, save for some stumps here and there—Floyd instructed Ollie to line up the Coke bottles atop a stump some one hundred yards away while he took out his 1870/87/15 Vetterli and checked it over. Floyd was finishing up loading the bullets when Ollie came up beside him.
“I can’t believe you’re teaching me how to use that,” Ollie said. “I want to ask if it’s safe, but it’s a weapon, so...”
Ollie’s unease tugged at Floyd’s heart. It was strange, in some ways, how Ollie could seem so worldly, and yet so innocent, too.
“It’s safe enough.” Floyd said reassuringly. “You know, a lot of folks around here like a Winchester. It’s a newer type of rifle gun. I heard some not-to-nice stuff about it, though, like that it ain’t easy for loading and unloading the bullets. Couple of men have lost their fingers. Sometimes, I catch myself thinking I’d be too smart to maim myself like that and consider buying one, but it ain’t worth chancing. Not when I have this here Vetterli, which is plenty safe. Accurate, too.” Floyd clapped Ollie on the shoulder. “You’ll be safe, Ollie. I won’t let you blow your fingers off.”
“Thank God for that,” Ollie said, his voice still sounding a tad unsteady.
Ollie’s innocence was making Floyd feel tingly inside. Little bursts of protective energy were rippling over his skin, and Floyd had to force himself to ignore it.
“Mind if I impress you before I move on to the lesson?” Floyd asked.
“Definitely not.”
Floyd brought the rifle up to his shoulder, lined up the shot, and fired, shattering one of the bottles.
“Not bad, huh?”
“Jesus.”
Floyd laughed. “Not the name I’d expect someone to say after watching me obliterate a Coke bottle.”
“Yeah, well, you’re—wow,” Ollie said, as though he couldn’t think of a response. “Can I try now?”
“Yep. But first, let me explain how it works.”
Floyd pulled up and back on the extractor to expel the spent casing and launched into his lesson on the mechanics, telling Ollie how the Vetterli worked the best he could, and once he was finished, he handed the rifle over to him. Next, Floyd tried to explain to Ollie how to aim properly, but Ollie eagerly lifted the rifle and fired before Floyd could say much. He missed the target by a mile.
“Damn,” Ollie sighed.
“What’d you expect? It was your first shot.”
“Yeah, I suppose. You made it look easy, though.”
“Well, it ain’t.”
“I can see that now.”
Ollie struggled to ready the rifle for the next shot. Floyd opened his mouth to try to explain how he could hold it better, but Ollie fired again. Floyd could tell that Ollie’s pride was hurting a little bit, which seemed kind of silly to him, especially since Ollie couldn’t seem to hold still long enough for a proper lesson. Floyd considered reminding Ollie that learning something new takes both time and patience, but in the end, he thought that maybe Ollie wouldn’t like that.
So, Floyd stood back and watched Ollie struggle. He watched him struggle with dislodging the casing. He watched him struggle with firing the next shot. And the next. And the next. And when it came time for Ollie to reload, he watched Ollie struggle with the clip.
After one more round of this, Ollie still hadn’t hit a single bottle. His cheeks had become a pinkish red, whether from shame or anger, Floyd didn’t know, but either way, Floyd could sense what was about to happen before Ollie even turned away from the targets.