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It Hurts To Get Shot In The Face
By Anthony Lamella
How long have we known each other now? Certainly long enough for you to know I'd never try to stop you from expressing your feelings. However, I think you should know by now that I have feelings, too, and what I'm feeling is hurt. Lots and lots of it, too. I just want you to know that you really hurt me when you shot me in the face with that Glock.
I've tried hard not to let my pain show, but sometimes it's not easy. Perhaps you can tell by the blank stare I wear these days, or the pus and blood oozing out of the bandages on my face. But since you apparently don't seem to fully understand what you've done, I’ve decided to come right out and tell you that you’ve hurt me.
Look, I’ve known for awhile that empathy isn't your strong suit. Let me assure you, though, that having three or four projectiles forcibly added to the side of the face is not without a modicum of pain.
I must ask you now, were you trying to hurt me? Believe me, I'm trying to my best to give you the benefit of the doubt. Could it be that you were just trying to get my attention? Or perhaps you were just showing off how proficient you’ve become at repelling invaders who might make the mistake of crawling through your bedroom window at three o’clock in the morning? I hope so, I really do. But my gut says your intent was to cause me pain, and I think you should know you did.
It's going to take a long time to get over this, I think. This isn't something that just goes away. Don’t you think you owe it to me to at least talk about why you did what you did? An event of this magnitude will just fester if we try to pretend it never happened. If we ignore it, the punctures in my cheek and forehead will get infected, too. But if, on the other hand, we work together to make things better, with some time, understanding and good old-fashioned reconstructive surgery, things might one day go back to the way they were. Especially around my right eye socket.
Honey, It's really just a matter of trust; and right now, I honestly don't know how I could ever possibly trust you with a gun anymore.
Okay, maybe you didn't mean to hurt me as severely as you did. In moments of terror, people often don't realize the power of their actions, or perhaps they just don’t recognize friends with a nylon stocking pulled over their face. Perhaps they just don't understand that when someone sneaks in a window at night, they really just want to get to know you better.
I think you just wanted to lash out, figuring I’m a little more resilient than I really am. But now you can see that, as a human being, at my core, I’m a fragile creature. I can break… I can have my cheekbone shattered.
Darling, we're all wounded creatures in our own way, aren’t we? Nobody goes through life without enduring some hurt and pain. But don’t we owe it to each other to try to minimize that trauma? So, next time you feel the urge to lash out at me, be it with a cruel remark, a restraining order, or perhaps even a .32 caliber bullet to the temporal lobe, remember that I bleed, too.
In my heart of hearts, I think we can move past this. Next time I want to come over, I’ll call first, I promise. That is, if I ever come out of this damn coma.
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