His nose felt like it had fallen off a few hours later, it was raining heavily outside and he could hear someone downstairs cooking, he could smell cookies and brownies. Looking over at his horse clock, he saw that it was just an hour past dinner time. Pushing himself up and shaking his head, swinging his legs over the beds side, he saw a note taped to his bed. Grabbing it and opening it up, he saw that it was a note from his mother. Throwing the note into the trash and getting up, he walked to his bathroom and looked in the mirror. It looked like he had been in a fight. His nose was on one side of his face, red as can be, and his cheeks and lips were red and swollen. The part under his nose all the way down to his chin was bloody, there was blood on his shirt.
"I a-look like I done hit mah face on a rock!" he said to himself.
"Looks more like you slammed the door in your face."
Turning around as fast as he could, falling off the stool that he was on, he saw his uncle. His uncle was wearing a muscle shirt, it was slightly burned and had a burn smell to it, and blue jeans. His flamethrower was lying against his side, in his hand was a glass of what it looked to be pink lemonade.
"Yeah, I a-did." Four Way Shot said, pulling an arm up and hiding his face.
"You should get you ma to fix that," his uncle said, walking forward. "she's a wonder when it comes to bandaging."
Seeing his uncle take a drink from the glass like it was nothing, he was leaning up against the door frame, made his stomach rumble loudly. Letting his shoulders fall, remembering what happened a few hours before, he got up and walked past him. He felt ashamed of himself, he had kicked his father in a place he had said he would never kick. Seeing his shirt, pants and boots still thrown on the floor, he went towards them, intending to pick them up.
"Must have been mad," his uncle said, he was looking over his shoulder. "tearing your clothes right off your body like they were nothin'."
"Yeah, I a-was mad." he replied, not thinking. "said a lot o' thangs I a-didn't mean either."
"That's normal," his uncle said. "I do the same."
Turning to his uncle, feeling guilt and sadness fill him, he felt more tears well in his eyes. His uncle knew more about anger than him, he had been angry a few times but not as much as he did a few hours ago. It scared him, bending over and picking up his shirt, he saw a few of the buttons under his bed. Getting down on his knees and reaching under the bed, he tried to get them, they were out of reach so he abandoned them.
"Don't worry about your shirt," his uncle said, walking out of the room. "your ma will fix it."
Seeing his uncle leave the room made him feel even more guilty, sliding onto his bed he felt more tears flow down his face. He wondered how his father was, if he was okay, if he was still mad at him and the biggest question he wanted to get an answer to was if he was still allowed to be near the horses. Taking a big gulp of air down, he stood up and collected the rest of his clothes. His boots were scuffed up, his hat was bent a little at the brim, his pants were ripped at the zipper and kneecaps and his shirt's buttons had been ripped out. Placing everything on his bed then stepping out of his room, he looked down the hallway. His father's room was down the hall and to the left of the stairs, his mother, he was sure, had moved all of her stuff into his room, her room use to be on the right of the stairs. Sighing hard, taking a step forward, he began walking down the hallway towards his father's room.
"He didn't mean it Six Shooter," he heard his mother say. "he was just mad."
"Ye gonna keep takin' up fer him ever time he a-does somethin' bad darlin?" he heard his father say. "If ye would o' come with me to retrieve our young un' after he done runned away ye would o' prolly just told me to leave him alone, that he a-was jus' expandin' his territory. Right?"
"No, Six Shooter," his mother said. "even I know what he did was wrong, running away I mean."
Pressing himself against the door, trying to hear everything his parents said, Four Way Shot didn't hear his uncle walking up behind him. When his uncle tapped him on his shoulder he jumped and knocked the door open. This uncle, he had several, was wearing jeans with red, yellow, blue and green paint splashes on the front, sides and back, he was wearing a blue shirt with a yellow sun painted on the front. His red brown hair shined in the light from the ceiling. He had blue eyes and a red lipsticked smile. He had paint splashed shoes on his feet.
"Son, come in," his father said. "yer ma an' I a-was jus' talkin' 'bout ya."
Picking himself up, nodding at his uncle as he walked down the stairs, his shirt still had blood on the front, he wished he would have put on a new shirt, feeling himself blush he walked towards his parents. His mother was the first to grab him, she held him for a long time, when she let him go some of the blood from his shirt had rubbed off on hers. When he went to hug his father he thought twice, instead he patted his shoulder.
"Sit down," his father said.
His mother, once he plopped down between them, pulled his shirt off. She went to the bathroom and started the sinks faucet, she was probably cleaning the blood from it. It had hurt when the collar of his shirt brushed over his nose, he felt another bleed start. Pulling his hand up to his face, he hid his still red and bloodied mouth, nose and chin. His father slid off the bed and went to the bathroom, when he returned he was holding a wet cloth.
"Move yer hands son," he said. "this ain't a-gonna hurt but fer a minute."
His father had been half right, when he pushed the cloth up against his face both his nose and he screamed in pain. His mother ran out the bathroom and slid onto the bed, she placed her arms around him and held him tight, all the while saying that it was okay and that the pain would go away soon.
"Is this a-whut is a-feels like when ye break yer nose!" he screamed, still in pain.
"Yes son," his father said. "ye jus' hold still so's I can re-align it with all o' yer face."
He didn't have enough time to ask why he had to hold still, all he knew was that when his father touched his nose with his fingers it hurt even more. He thrashed his head about, asking and pleading for his father to leave him alone. With four of his hands, his father held his arms down, his mother held his head still as his father re-aligned his nose to its correct position. When the deed was done his face was flooded with tears.
"That a-hut!" he screamed.
"Well, why did ye break yer nose in the first place?" his father said, hiding a laugh.
"Sweetie, what do you expect, when you break a nose it's suppose to hurt." his mother said.
"Have ye a-broken yer nose ma?" he asked, turning towards her.
With a warm smile he mother brought the cloth over his face, he was still in some pain but not as much as before. His father sat down beside him and patted his knee, his nose had started pouring blood when his father had re-aligned it and his hand was bloody. Swallowing and sighing hard at the same time, he reached over and hugged him tightly.
"Yes, I have broken my nose." she said, patting him on the head. "I've also had someone else purposely break it."
"Why would anyone wanna hurt ye?" Four Way Shot asked, pulling his head towards her. "Yer nice."
"I wasn't all that nice when I was in my early teens sweetie." she said.
"Imma sorry I done kicked ye today pa," he said to his father. "I a-didn't mean it."
"An' I a-didn't mean to be so hard on ye today," his father said, hugging him just as tightly. "I done saw that mare rushin' at ye, bein' all protective o' her young un' that it a-sparked mah need to protect mah young un'."
"I luv ye pa," Four Way Shot said, putting his head to his father's shirt gently.
"An' I a-luv ye," his father said, smiling a little. "now quit a-rubbin' yer nose against mah shirt! Yer a-gittin' it all bloody!"
Pushing himself away from his father, he started laughing. His father's shirt had a blood stain on it were he had put his head. His laugh must have been contagious because his mother started laughing. His father looked at them then he looked down at his shirt. When he looked up he rolled his eyes and sighed loudly then started undoing the buttons. When he took it off he didn't replace it with a new one.
"You know how happy your father was when you was brought into the room as a baby?" his mother asked.
"Oh no, please a-don't start up with all o' that now." his father exclaimed, he jumped up and walked out of the room, shaking his head.
"You wanna know what happened when you was born?" his mother asked, smoothing a hand over his head and tickling one of his ears.
"I shur do!" Four Way Shot exclaimed.
Four Way Shot's eyes grew wide when his mother took a book out from the dresser, it had on the front a stick that said Four Way Shot's First Year in red letters. He climbed onto her lap and gently rubbed the back of his head against her arm, she wrapped a free hand around his waist and hugged him tightly.
"When you were born you didn't cry," she said. "everyone thought that you wasn't alive, your aunt took you and wrapped you up in a blanket and took you out the room before I could see you."
"Did mah aunt a-bring me back in?" Four Way Shot asked.
"Yes, she was out of the room for ten minutes, when she returned she was very happy." his mother said, smiling from ear to ear. "You never cried, when she brought you back into the room your father was the first to see and hold you."
"He a-did!" Four Way Shot exclaimed. "Whut'd I do?"
"You smiled and grabbed his nose with your little hand." his mother laughed. "I had to nudge your father with my elbow for him to give you to me, so that I could hold you."
Four Way Shot was allowed to look at all of the photos in the book, the ones that he liked the most were his father holding him, him being placed on Strawberry's back at age five and a half months and the ones when he was sleeping. He wondered if his brother had a book similar to the one he was looking at, his mother had mentioned that his half sister and half brother's had baby books documenting them from age zero to now, the most recent photo in the book was of him jumping on his father's back from a few months back.
"I have a few tapes of you when you was a baby, being born and all." his mother was saying. "I also have a few tapes of you and your dad playing outside."
"He ain't a-ready fer the birthin' tapes."
Pulling his head up, he had a headache and his nose still hurt him, he didn't know how long he and his mother had sat on the bed, he didn't know how long he had listened to her tell him stories about how he started walking at eight months, his first meal and his first word, all he knew was that it had stopped raining and the moon and the stars were out. His father was standing outside the door to his bedroom, a cookie in his hand.
"Ye ain't had dinner yet," his father said when he noticed that his son was looking at the cookie hungrily. "once ye eat, ye can have one."
"Whut's was fer dinner?" Four Way Shot asked, his mouth was open a little bit and he was smiling a little.
"Meatloaf," his father said. "ye go git some, that way ye'll stop a-droolin' on mah bed!"
Four Way Shot was two feet out of the room when he stopped, with an evil smile on his face he turned around and ran at his father, his father didn't know what hit him. One minute he was on his feet, the next he was on the floor. When he looked up he saw that the cookie he had been eating was in his son's hand. With a growl, he stood up.
"Give me that!" he said sternly.
"Ye gotta catch me first!" his son exclaimed.
He hadn't been nicknamed Speedy Gonzales Jr. for nothing, his father took one step and he ran ten. Down the stairs and around the couch, he made his father chase him all over the house. He began to tire when he ran into his father's bedroom, he wasn't even near the bed when his father wrapped an arm around him. Breathing hard, he let his head rest against his father's still unclothed chest. His father patted his head then grabbed the cookie that hadn't been touched from his hand. It was then that he noticed that he had ripped a nail out. The bleeding had stopped, the pain hadn't. When his father put some Hydrogen Peroxide on it need crunched his face up and tried pulling his hand away.
"Ye stay still!" his father said. "Ye ain't a-gonna git better that way."
"But pa," he moaned. "It a-huts!"
"Jus' fer a minute or two," his father said. "it a-won't hurt ye fer much longer."
His father was right this time, his finger stopped hurting after a minute and a half, his father applied the neosporin gently to the end of his finger then wrapped a band-aid around out. Before he set him down he gave him a kiss and a hug, he repayed the favor by doing the same.
"I gots to change mah clothes after dinner." Four Way Shot thought to himself.
When he walked down the stairs a few minutes later he had a smile on his face, he still didn't know if he was still banned from the barn and he still didn't know if it was okay for him to ride a horse or not, but he was happy that he and his father had made up. When he walked into the living room he saw that Arson was sitting on the couch, he had a magazine in his hand. When he saw his brother walk past he slid from the couch and ran up to him.
"Dude! I stood by the door calling for you for a long time earlier." his brother exclaimed. "How come you didn't answer?"
"I a-was mad," Four Way Shot said, stepping into the kitchen. "I a-wasn't thinkin'."
"Dude, after you're done eating come to my room," Arson whispered. "you gotta see what's in this magazine!"
"I'll a-look at it after I eat." Four Way Shot promised.
Walking into the kitchen he saw that Slasha's mother, Judy, was sitting in a chair, reading a novel. Beside her was a athletic looking woman with curly dark brown hair and pretty brown eyes, she had highlights of chestnut and blonde in her hair that really went well with her eyes. She was wearing a black skirt with white flowers sewn in and a black and gold shirt, a necklace of gold and silver was around her neck. In her lap was her son, Slash, who looked green in the face.
"Whut's a-wrong with him?" Four Way Shot asked.
"Oh, hi Four Way," Slash's mother jumped. "surprised me."
"The meatloaf didn't fare well with him," Arson whispered. "he got real sick after one bite."
"I'll have you your dinner in a minute." Slasha's mother said, standing up after marking her spot in the novel she was reading.
Sitting down at the table, Four Way Shot clamped his teeth down on his lower lip, he forced himself to not laugh. His half brother was looking up at his, his spikes were out and his mouth was half open, he could see his tongue move from side to side in his mouth. When his mother wasn't looking at him, Slash raised his middle finger at him.
"Here you go," Slasha's mother said.
Four Way Shot ate as much as he could, just a tiny bit of his meatloaf and his beans were left on his plate when he decided that he had had enough. His half sister had walked into the kitchen while he was eating, she was still in the kitchen looking after Slash. He was still sick from the meatloaf. He didn't know what his half brother's problem was, he liked the taste of it and had eaten almost all of it, he had forgotten about the beans and the potato on his plate. Arson joined him when he walked out of the kitchen, he practically pushed him up the stairs to his bedroom where he closed the door gently.
"Whut's the hurry?" Four Way Shot exclaimed. "I jus' got through eatin' mah dinner!"
"Like I said," Arson whispered evilly. "you gotta see this magazine!"
Arson walked over to his bed, his bed was a normal twin, as was his, but the sheets were different. He had horse bedsheets on his, his pillow case matched it. His father had normal blue sheets and pillow cases on his bed. His brother, on the other hand, had had to get his sheets made by someone, they were very expensive. On the sheets was a campfire that had begun to spark the nearby trees. His pillows matched them perfectly. He didn't know how he and his fiery brother got along so well, they were total opposites. His brother had lava lamps, lightning plasma ball lamps, and posters of forests on fire on his walls. Besides the posters he also had little glass and metal figurines of dragons on the top of his dresser. His room was totally different, he had posters of horses, horse figurines, horse hair bracelets, and he had a metal rearing horse with a lamp shade connected to it's head on his dresser. Shaking his head, he walked over to his brother's bed and sat down on it, his brother was pulling a paper bag out from under his mattress.
"Whut ye got?" he asked.
"This!" his brother exclaimed.
His brother threw a magazine at him, one look made him want to start jumping just like he had when he had been drinking. On the front flap was a woman with barely any clothes on. She was a blonde woman and she was just wearing a pair of white undergarments. A smile spread across his face as he turned the front flap, the front of the magazine had made him jump, the first page made him feel like he was about leap out of his pants. One the second page was a photo of a woman waist up, she was wearing nothing, her long black hair flowing down her shoulder and a smile to die for on her face.
"Disgusting ain't it?" his brother was saying. "Made me sick just looking at the photos!"
Four Way Shot wasn't listening, he was turning the pages and looking at the photos, his eyes growing wider with every single one of them. When he turned the page he was on all the fun began. He was at the middle of the magazine, a post leaped up at him, a woman with red hair and blue eyes, wearing nothing on her top half, her hair was hiding her breasts, her underpants were light brown. In one of her hands was a Colt. 64 and the caption said even a cowboy can't resist.
"Bro..." he heard Arson say. "you aren't...please don't tell me...you're pissing your pants!"