My very first boyfriend, Fusco, was also a good friend of my brother Adam. He was my first boyfriend, and i was the first of my siblings to date anyone, so it was not very familiar territory. However, we mostly managed to all hang out together without too much awkwardness.
As i settled into the relationship more, i would sometimes hang back and let the boys do things together when Fusco came over. On one such occasion, they went into our back yard to play with Adam's pellet gun. They had set up some paper targets and were having a grand old time.
They were almost out of pellets, and they reloaded the chamber one last time. There were not quite enough pellets to fill the whole chamber. Neither of them counted how many pellets went in.
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When the gun stopped firing, Fusco asked Adam to shoot him in the hand so he could feel how powerful the blast was. Adam obliged. Then, Fusco wanted Adam to feel the blast.
The pellet lodged itself in Adam's diaphragm. It was centimeters away from his aorta, his spine, and lots of other things the severing of which would have resulted in death. The doctors struggled to remove it, as it moved with each breath he took.
He survived and was totally fine in a few weeks, but we always joked about the "war wound" he sustained, right after Hurricane Katrina and in the middle of the War on Terrorism. Of course, this was six years before we knew that he'd have actual war wounds from Afghanistan, but Fusco still felt pretty terrible about the whole thing.
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