He Has A Gun!

Looking back, I realize how dangerous it was. In fact, I understood the danger the moment I started to run. My friend Janet and I just wanted to watch the sunset after going to get ice cream at Baskin-Robbins on that hot, summer evening. So of course, I was barefoot. I was seventeen, and I was always barefoot then. But what I didn’t realize at the time was that climbing up that hill while barefoot to get a better look at the sunset over the rooftops would end up being the least intelligent decision I’d ever made.

Janet and I were best friends. It was summer and although we were both taking a condensed summer history class, Twentieth Century Man, neither of us was in the mood to study on that Sunday evening. We decided to take a break. I loved driving, so I almost always drove. First, we went to Baskin-Robbins for ice cream, then I drove us up to Claraboya, the hill with fancy, modern, mid-century homes, to view the sunset. My ice cream melted quickly and by the time we got to the top of the hill the single-scoop cone was gone. When I’d left the house, my plans were to just get ice cream, so I didn’t wear shoes. Now we were up in the hills, but I thought my feet could handle the short hike up to the top beyond the parking area just to sit and watch the sunset.

My feet managed the ascent well enough, though a few sharp rocks made me question my decision. But it was worth “the ouch” to see this gorgeous sunset. We sat there silently taking in the view as Janet finished her double-scoop ice cream cone. Then we talked about where we wanted to go to college the following fall. It was hard to believe our last year of high school was about to start. After a long discussion, we realized it was almost dark and we’d better hike back down the short path to my Mustang to get home. Just then another Mustang pulled into the parking area. It was just dark enough that we couldn’t be seen on the hill above parking lot, but under the dim streetlight, we could see a man get out of his car and open the trunk. I asked Janet, “What’s he getting out of the trunk?” “It looks like a cane,” Janet replied. Then suddenly we both realized it wasn’t a cane. It was a rifle. “He has a gun!” I whispered trying to remain calm.

I can still picture the camouflaged jacket he had on and the light blue sweatshirt I had tied around my waist to make sitting in the dirt a little more comfortable: a pullover sweatshirt with a hood, and it had dark blue stitching around the collar and the single, double-sided pocket on the front. Janet and I jumped up from where were seated but kept low behind the tumbleweeds so the rifleman wouldn’t see us. The only path back to my car was the one he was coming up. We had to find another way back to the car, or at least to someone’s house to ask for help. As we ran east further into the trees and hills, we realized there was a cul-de-sac just below us that “T’d off” from the street on which I had parked. If we could just run east about a quarter mile and find a path down to the cul-de-sac, we could then circle around to my car. But there was one big problem. I didn’t have any shoes on. With no time to stop, I had to continue running barefoot and hope that since I’d been barefoot all summer, the skin on the bottom of my feet would be tough enough to prevent sharp rocks and stickers from puncturing my feet. But that wasn’t the case. My feet now ached with tiny cuts and stickers, so as I ran, I unwrapped my sweatshirt from my waist.

I stopped just long enough to brush the stickers and dirt from my feet and then place them in the sleeves of my upside-down sweatshirt. I then held the bottom of the sweatshirt, which was now facing up, in my hands, pulling it as taut as possible. I then continued rushing east in the near-dark, waddling as fast as I could. Janet was about 50 feet ahead of me when she realized I wasn’t next to her anymore. She turned and when she didn’t see me immediately next to her, she panicked thinking I’d been hurt. Then when she saw me, she shouted in a whisper very emphatically, “What. Are. You. Doing? “

“I’m running in my sweatshirt to protect my feet,” I explained.

“Well, you look like an injured penguin! Hurry up!” she said, trying not to laugh at me.

“I’m waddling as fast as I can,” I replied.

At this point, we could see the rifleman reaching the top of the trail where just three minutes earlier we’d been sitting serenely watching the gorgeous sunset. Now we felt like we were running for our lives. We found a path down to the cul-de-sac street, so I removed my sweatshirt from my feet and went along the path to the street. The blacktop felt so smooth compared to the rocky firebreak trail, full of stickers and rocks. We ran back to my “Trusted Steed”, my seven-year-old, lime-gold 1968 Mustang, jumped in the car, and took off. Now we could breathe normally again, though our hearts were still racing.

I never went anywhere again without shoes on, or at least thrown in the back of my car. I learned a good lesson that day: Do not go out without any shoes – at least put them in the car if not on my feet. And don’t go to remote places at dusk. You never know who will come your way – a snake, a wild animal, or a rifleman. To this day, some twenty years later, I still carry a pair of shoes in the trunk of my car – just in case!

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