The truth about Uncle Joe getting shot

Dear Mom,

I know I’m not usually the letter-writing type, but there is something I need to come clean to you about. I was with Uncle Joe (yup, your little brother) the day he was shot. He told me not to tell you, because he didn’t want to get me in trouble with you. I’m telling you because he doesn’t deserve your wrath for protecting me. It was a Thursday so I decided to skip class and skate instead. I instantly recognized the exhaust of his silver primer Mustang as he rolled up next to me. We smiled at each other when he suddenly put her in neutral and pulled the parking brake.

It was a little strange to see him in a shirt and tie as he walked around the front of the car and opened the passenger door. He was interviewing most of the morning and looked tired (even a little defeated). Even more surprising is that HE got in the front seat and closed the door, and motioned with his head for me to get behind the wheel. I gladly accepted and off we went. If you remember, I had only JUST gotten my license the previous month. Uncle Joe’s license was “semi-suspended” as he described it, so we were helping one another out.

We decided to stop in at the convenience store on South Union for some sodas. He went inside while I put the car in “launch position” (facing out, with the engine idling). That’s when I heard the four shots, One of them sounding louder than the others, like a shotgun.

Then I see Uncle Joe limping out, holding his right leg. I opened his door from the inside, he jumped in and just said, “LAUNCH!!” I floored it out of the side exit of the lot, onto Salem street, spinning the tires in first and second gear finally getting traction as we reached the light. By this time, Uncle Joe used his tie as a makeshift tourniquet and started navigating. We actually drove away from the hospital once we crossed the bridge and parked at the Museum Square garage.

He knew the attendant, shook his hand with a palmed $20 bill and asked him to unlock the freight elevator. We were then on our way to the top floor, when I finally asked who we were seeing because he was bleeding profusely. He leaned on me and whispered, “6 E…” I managed to lift the gate with one arm and we made our way to the door, Uncle Joe now getting weaker and heavier on me.

I knocked quickly, and Uncle Joe punctuated it with a single pound of his fist on the door. It was “Aunt” Lena, his old girlfriend, the nurse. I hadn’t seen her since I was 6. After a very colorful greeting for Uncle Joe, she made a double take when she realized who I was. “YOU BROUGHT YOUR NEPHEW INTO THIS, YOU IRRESPONSIBLE MORON!?” I believe were her actual words.

She grabbed his other arm and had me sit him down on what looked like a dentist’s chair as she put on gloves and gathered some bandages and first aid supplies. She handed me a pair of latex gloves and told me to take off my jacket (I hadn’t noticed the blood stains until then). I clumsily put on the latex gloves while she single-handedly cut away his pants to reveal the wound. Uncle Joe swore through gritted teeth as she gently but quickly cleaned the wound, and injected what I think was some anesthetic to his upper thigh. He calmed down and she handed me a steel bowl to hold for her as she extracted the bullet.

That’s when I started to feel a little dizzy. Aunt Lena noticed this and quickly pulled up a chair for me and pointed to a nearby trash can in case something came up. I suddenly woke up to a loud, rattling sound and Aunt Lena smiling at me. (The sound was actually the bullet in the metal bowl I was supposed to hold for her. I sat up, a little embarrassed, and she told me to stay calm, and pointed over at Uncle Joe who was now laying in bed asleep, leg freshly wrapped.

“I’ve already called down to Hanson, the attendant, and asked him to put my car cover on your uncle’s car. I’m guessing your mom doesn’t know you’re here and it’s close to dinner time. You want me to get you an Uber?” I accepted, came home quietly and told you I was just really tired. That was the last time I saw Uncle Joe or Aunt Lena, then I heard you yelling at him over the phone not too long ago asking him how he could be so stupid. It wasn’t his fault, Mom. Someone else had the clerk at gunpoint when he walked in. Uncle Joe distracted the robber and the clerk grabbed his own gun. The clerk and the robber ended up killing one another and uncle Joe caught a stray. He was actually at the wrong place at the wrong time, and got scared, especially since I was with him. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me and I understand if you need some time. I love you and so does Uncle Joe.

Your little boy,

Raven