Shots Fired

Shots Fired

Two hours after the funeral I was hanging out with Paulie in his mom’s basement for old time’s sake and trying to get him to tell me what Teresa meant.

“If I knew, I’d tell you. You know that.” Paulie unbuttoned his cufflinks and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. “It’s always hot down here.” He leaned over and turned on a twelve inch TV.

“But it doesn’t sound like Teresa. I mean, I know her sister just died and she’s not okay, but…”

Paulie pursed his lips. “Of course she’s not okay.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just…”

“No, honey, I get it. I totally get it. Listen, if you’re so worried about this party she’s throwing tonight, why don’t you call her?”

“I don’t know. What if she’s changed her mind?”

“You know Teresa never changes her mind. Remember the last time she planned to do something crazy?”

“The Eppersons’…” I reached for Paulie’s Pall Malls and his purple lighter. The basement window was open a crack so his mom wouldn’t smell the smoke.

“Uh, yeah. I don’t think their dog is going to shit in Teresa’s yard anytime soon.”

“If he can shit at all…” I stood up and blew smoke directly into the window. Outside, the seeping smoke matched the color of the clouds. My black cardigan started to itch and I took it off. “God, I never realized how angry she gets.”

“Mrs. Epperson almost called the police.”

“I remember.”

“It’s kinda funny…the cork…” Paulie giggled.

I flipped my long hair over my shoulder and smoked. “But that was three years ago. She’s better now.”

“Not after today,” Paulie said.

The room filled with the somber silence of death. We both puffed on our cigarettes like we always did, never really inhaling, too scared of the risks. But while Paulie’s head was lowered, I inhaled deeply, as I had been doing since I left for college.

It happened last Saturday. Stephanie went to Maddison Market at seven. I never would’ve thought—I mean, yeah sure, maybe it could happen in a Wal-Mart at three in the morning on a Tuesday. Some guy runs up to her, stabs her in the cereal aisle, the blood drips on the Cocoa Puffs as her hair fans out on the Honeycomb. At Wal-Mart, maybe…but not at the local market.

Stephanie didn’t scream, couldn’t. Maybe she was in shock, I don’t know. All I know is what Teresa told me. Some nice old lady pulled out her Nokia and called the police, and Aimee—the mousy cashier who always likes to talk about her guinea pig—called Teresa. Two hours ago, the funeral wasn’t even over yet, Teresa told Paulie and me she was going to throw a party as a distraction and find the bastard who stabbed her sister.

I said, “How in the world will you find him?”

Teresa was crying, her anger broken down into tears. “Aimee knows.”

“Who does Aimee know?” I asked Paulie. I turned around to watch him light up another cigarette. He always does that: lets it burn to ash and fizzle out while he thinks. Paulie has emerald eyes. The flame made them shimmer. He removed his shoes, exposing black dress socks with a hole in the second toe.

“Well, there was that one boy—Henry, I think. He was cute,” Paulie smiled. “Aimee dated him not too long ago.”

“Yeah, but he wouldn’t have known Stephanie.”

Paulie sighed. “Well, I told you already, I have no idea.”

My heels tapped loudly, echoing in the basement. I turned off the TV. “We’re going to this party.”

“In funeral attire?”

“Sure. I don’t care.”

It was six o’clock when we pulled into Teresa’s driveway. Already, there were five cars outside. Three girls and a guy lounged on the sofa eating Doritos and talking about Friends. Paulie sat with them. I glowered in his direction, but he pretended not to notice.

I found Teresa in her mother’s bedroom, searching the closet. She was red-faced from crying, and any trace of makeup had been smeared off by tissues. I went over to hug her but she pushed me off.

“I can’t. I have to stay focused.”

“What are you doing?” I sat on the bed. Teresa kept searching. “Where are your parents?”

“Grandma’s. They wanted me to come; I said no. The last thing I need right now is Grandma telling me how sorry she is.”

“Is Aimee coming here?”

“Yeah.”

“What does she know?”

Teresa found a shoe box sealed with duct tape and ripped it open. She pulled a gun out of the box.

“Wait—“

“Don’t worry. I don’t even know how to shoot this thing. My mom keeps it in the closet unless Dad works the night shift. She never took it out of the box.”

“Then what are you doing with it?” I realized my hand was covering my mouth and I put my hand down, not wanting to freak her out.

“I’m going to scare him with it. Or scare Aimee into telling me who he is. Or both.”

Suddenly I had a headache; my jaw throbbed from grinding my teeth. “What if Aimee doesn’t know anything?”

Teresa stared at me.

“I mean, what made you think she knew something?”

“She’s the one who called me. She’s the one who acted like she was so concerned about me when Stephanie died. She made it obvious.” Teresa stuck the gun in the back of her pants.

Paulie’s face appeared at the door. His lips were pressed together. When he looked at Teresa, he softened his face. I scowled at him for leaving me alone with her, and he rolled his eyes. “Aimee’s here. She’s showing everybody pictures of her guinea pig. I thought you’d like to come out and see.”

Aimee was smiling when we walked into the living room. “Hey Teresa, how are you?” she asked.

“Come with me to the kitchen,” Teresa replied.

I started to tremble all over. I watched the two of them go into the kitchen—Aimee with her shoulders hunched because that’s always how she walked, her head turned towards Teresa; Teresa with her body straight, facing forward. I went into Teresa’s bedroom. It looked like a little girl’s paradise with two mesh hanging bags filled with stuffed animals. But the posters of Ozzy and Metallica offset the teddy bears. Five years ago, Teresa got her own phone line because her dad was tired of picking up the phone to make a call and being bombarded with the news that Tom Richfield was hot in his basketball jersey, or Teresa’s period was extra heavy that month, or that Kirsten Dunst was so cool in Jumanji.

I almost felt bad picking up the phone. But I knew what would happen, just like the time The Epperson’s dog shit on the lawn…Mrs. Epperson probably should have called the police. Whoever heard…it doesn’t matter; she hasn’t been well since she turned fourteen. Seems like it happened overnight: first, there were care bears and her smile went on forever; then her moods began to cycle, and she was constantly irritable. I know her sister just died, but god…why Aimee? It’s like she singled out the weakest threat in the grocery store. The girl was an introvert. All she cared about was Henry and that goddamn guinea pig.

I cried the whole time on the phone.