What goes up must come down - somewhere

I’ve always found it interesting that some townfolk think it’s just fine to point their pistol, rifle, shotgun in the air and squeeze off a shot or two of live ammo seemingly without a care in the world as to where that bullet or those shotgun pellets might land.

I mean, when I was a kid I was curious about where would what went up come down. But I used a slingshot.

How close would it land near me?

I’d drop a marble in my trusty slingshot, pull the thing back, aim it straight up in the air and let ’er fly.

I think the closest landing was about 20 feet away from me.

Of course, as a kid I didn’t give much thought to what would happen if I got boinked on the head or I hit someone’s windshield.

The first time I encountered people celebrating by shooting their firearm in the air was on the Mexican border.

One Sept. 16, back in the ’90s, I was visiting a friend in Naco, Ariz., across the U.S./Mexico border from Naco, Sonora.

It was night and I heard gunfire from the Mexican side.

“Gunshots?” I asked my friend.

“Oh yeah, it’s Mexican Independence Day,” he said.

I wondered if anyone cared where their bullet landed.

Every now and then there’s a news story about someone getting wounded or killed by a bullet that just drops out of the sky, usually in some big metropolitan area.

One Saturday morning I was up early, having just let the dog back in the house after she did her morning thing outside.

I was going back to bed when I heard a thump, like a car door closing nearby.

I stepped outside just in time to hear someone behind our place yell, “Hey, you. What’re you doin’ messin’ with my truck? Come back here.”

No sooner was his last word out than I heard, BAM BAM BAM.

Three gunshots.

I knew they were gunshots because they sounded like gunshots.

Besides, there was no way he could have lit firecrackers that fast.

I thought it was probably best to go back in the house.

As I went back to sleep I had questions.

Where’s the logic in yelling, “Come back here” while you’re firing, say, your pistol?

And in what direction was this fellow firing his weapon?

Toward the ground? In the air? Down the alley? At the person messin’ with his truck?

Weeks later I was having a chat with a nearby neighbor who started telling me about a leak in his ceiling.

He showed me pictures on his cell phone.

“But look at this, there was a hole in our metal roof, a nice round bullet hole,” he said as he showed me the picture.

I told him the story of the Saturday morning gunshots.

Not long after that we got one of those soaking rains we get around here now and then and suddenly there was a leak in the roof of our big, ol’ shed in the backyard.

Was it a bullet hole like the one my neighbor had?

Or was it simply time for the roof to “give up the ghost?”

After all it looks like it’s been in place since the shed went up in 1965,

I’ll never know.

But life goes on.

And what goes up must come down.

Somewhere.

Grant McGee writes for The Eastern New Mexico News. Contact him:

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