2ndShotBlog.com

At 8:45 p.m. on a Wednesday night in February 2009, my girlfriend and I were watching TV in my living room. A knock came at the back door. Unusual. People always enter the house at the front.

I opened the door and there were three young men standing on the porch. They were clean cut - button down shirts and khaki pants, with short hair cuts. The one in the middle said, “We need to use your phone. Can we come in?”

I said, “No. Do I look like an idiot?”

Without saying a word, they turned around and walked into my backyard.

That’s when I made my mistake.

A year earlier someone had thrown a rock through the windshield of my car which I park out back. I wanted to make sure they didn’t vandalize the car or the exterior of the house, so I followed them.

They walked past my car and took a right into the service alley. I was about 20 feet behind them.

I was yelling (all bluff and bravado), “Go on! Get out! I want you out of the area! Keep moving!”

I turned the corner into the alley. The one in the middle, the same one who spoke to me at my back door, turned around with a gun in his hand. He pointed it at me and fired. It missed… a bit off to my right. He calmly re-aimed and, with a Mona Lisa smile on his face, pulled the trigger a second time. This time the bullet hit me as I was beginning to turn away from him. It entered my gut just below and to the right of my belly button.

People (all men) have asked me what it feels like to get shot.  I registered a pressure at the point of entry. Then a quick burning sensation. And I dropped to the ground. As I was falling, I watched the three young men run away.