Part 1
Is this it?
Am I going to die? I think
as I lie bleeding on the carpet
of our family living room.
Near me, I hear Daddy gurgling,
Mother’s voice pierces the chaos,
saying, “I’ll get the car keys.”
the shooters demand.
Then a gun blast and silence.
“This is the worse yet”, says one intruder,
as both strangers stomp over our downed bodies.
Panic reeks
I pass out from bullet wounds, come to:
I have to get help.
I push myself up and head out the back door
downstairs, to our neighbors below
with heavy steps close behind me.
I try to hide in the bushes around the house;
knock off my glasses
but predator stakes me out and forces me back
to house at gunpoint.
“I need car keys and money“, he demands.
“I don’t know where my parents’ car keys are…but I can find mine.”
Dump contents of my cloth bag on bed
grab keys and prescription sunglasses.
Still at gunpoint, he crams me into
my 67 Chevy Malibu
pushes me into driver’s seat.
cold air hitting me
He yells “John!”
No John.
I drive onto the street,
kidnapper telling me where to turn.
Part 2
Only an hour before, Mother read in the bedroom
while Daddy and I heard a TV report of three young men
who shot and killed a druggist in Roanoke.
Little do we know that two of them are on their way to us.
Daddy leaves the den, and minutes later
I hear wailing,
hurry into living room
a matted-hair intruder leaning over Dad
who’s recovering from a blow to his head.
My immediate instinct
is to pull the stranger off my dad.
I grab a hank of his hair:
someone shoots me.
Part 3
In my car, as we pass the University Mall, I lose
control and bump the car in front.
“You did that on purpose!”
“No, it was an accident.”
Lady in front car stops and walks back to scope out any damage.
She finds nothing, moves on.
We drive further out of Blacksburg on Price’s Fork Road
and voice next to me says, “I want you to kill me.””
I answer calmly, “I do not kill people.”
Soon we turn onto Route 460, out of town.
Eventually the sound of screaming sirens
as police catch up with us and trail behind.
Shooter makes me stop the car, grabs me
and uses me as shield to fire at police.
Amazingly, then, he flings me aside
and I escape, find an old pick-up truck
by the bowling alley, where I crouch in hiding.
I yell to police, “Help” and they come. I am put inside
patrol car, rushing to hospital
for ER orderlies to work on me,
wipe away the blood, check my vital signs.
The first pain hits my chest in the middle of my ribs.
They roll me into the hospital
prep me for surgery
to remove bullet from my abdomen
and examine other bullet wounds–base of right index finger
right shoulder
left lower arm.
Part 4
Waking up next morning in ER
in a daze, I see a long-haired man cleaning:
I freeze.
Soon realize he’s okay.
Nurses come and go amid beeping noises and alcohol smells
make sure I’m comfortable, check my vitals
inspect IV, adjust meds, examine incision
and see if my wounds are properly healing.
My family, awakened in the middle of the night,
come one by one
so as not to wear me out:
brothers John, Paul and his girlfriend Becky I’ve never met,
Dale and Rick and his wife Beth.
“How are Mother and Daddy?” I ask Rick.
“They are dead.”
I break down.
I hoped they had made it.
But focusing on surviving myself
I couldn’t think about what happened to them
Aunt Liz from Minneapolis,
Aunt Anne and Uncle Bob from Indianapolis:
they come. In my wounded haze, I believe Anne is Mother:
they look so much alike.
Mamaw, Uncle Tom and Aunt Edie and their kids from Circleville, Ohio:
They come.
No food allowed first few days
until abdomen incisions closed.
Ate a lot of ice cubes
Part 5
Since I couldn’t attend funeral
Aunt Liz comes and sits with me.
Looking out ICU window,
I couldn’t believe what happened
as the sun goes on shining brightly.
On third or fourth day out of ICU
They move me to my own room.
Poinsettias fill the space.
Many visitors–
My favorite babysitter, African American Janie Milton
arrives with my high school friend’s mother,
old friends from Mt. Airy, NC
that never traveled come to my room.
Four friends from Asheville
Brenda Anderson, Kata Carbone, Claudia Nix and Dennis Shaw
drive four hours
To spend time, laugh with me
And drive back four hours.
Care for my family comes from all directions:
concerned women bring me home cooked meals;
neighbors clean blood from our living room rugs;
a fund set up at church for Paul and John, still in college.
Soon I walk the halls a bit stronger
continue to make progress
ask for journal notebook as soon as I can write again
as right finger bullet wound healing.
Taken from journal December 8, 1975
I can’t sleep…I’m keyed up…good day after three or four bad ones… one nightmare night/in cold blood…my parents dead…not an illusion but real…I am JUST starting to begin to accept…it’s late…now can’t get bad thoughts out of my head… violent fantasies against me…thoughts only…not pictures or flashes…trying to concentrate on my good day… moved out of the ICU today…l got all my tubes out…I‘m getting to feel really “normal”…l’ve got wounds…YES…but I am lucky to be in one piece…I’m going to watch Sesame Street tomorrow… best of all today I was surrounded by 11 good people–family and friends–while we listened to the tape of Mother and Daddy’s funeral…I cried hard…I was free to let go.
After three weeks, I was discharged from the hospital, to go home for Christmas.
Healing from Gun Shots 