Writer's Symposium

Mounds resident Joyce Hanewinkle won the humor category of the 2021 Writers’ Symposium writing contest sponsored by LIFE’s Senior Centers and the Oklahoma Arts Council. Joyce describes a shipboard shooting contest where one competitor turns the tables on the other. Her tongue-in-cheek character descriptions and creative use of similes add to the fun. Enjoy the second of four prize-winning essays written by LIFE’s Vintage Newsmagazine readers.

BY JOYCE HANEWINKLE

I squint as the sun creeps around every edge of my sunglasses, but I don’t even care because there is a coconut in my hand filled with an elixir of the islands and a little umbrella. I’m on a cruise to the Bahamas where I will spend five glorious fun-filled days! I’m sporting my short shorts, a tank top, tennis shoes, and very long, very permed hair; after all, it is the early 90s. Evidently, I don’t look too intimidating. I am in my very happy place; what more could a girl ask for? And then I hear it, “There will be skeet shooting off the stern of the ship, all interested parties take the stairs to the lower deck.”

Now we’re talking! I loved shooting my M-16 while in the Army, but I’ve never fired a shotgun! I’m quick to hop in line, my competitive spirit zinging through me like the little steel ball in a pinball machine. It doesn’t go unnoticed by me that the fella in line ahead of me is in quite good shape and even somewhat handsome and yes, perhaps just a tad bit cocky. We were given free drink tickets when we boarded, and mine are safely in my pocket. Mr. Smug-and-Cocky sizes me up before making his offer, “Would you like to make a little wager? A drink to whoever hits the most birds?”

Well, this is a no-brainer; I’ve got free drink tickets, so it’s not going to cost me a thing even if I lose so I respond with a perky, “Sure!”

He gleefully nudges his buddy; it’s written all over him – he’s leading the lamb to the slaughter. The line inches forward like a Chinese dragon in a parade and as we are about to descend the ladder, he turns to look at me but he can’t quite make eye contact. He looks at his feet and begins his confession, “I guess I should have told you – I’m a cop.” I smile politely, somewhat demurely even. “It’s OK,” I tell him.

He’s all about being a gentleman now. “Go ahead, you can shoot first,” he says. I put on the earmuffs; I tell the deckhand I’ve never fired a shotgun before so he gives me a quick lesson. The first bird is released, I track it, exhale, hold my breath, squeeze the trigger, and – I miss. We get two birds, and I quickly figure out that I need to lead the bird with the shotgun, fire with my site just in front to make up for the trajectory of the bird. “Remember your training,” I coach myself as the second bird is released, “aim, exhale, hold your breath and squeeze that trigger!” In an instant, orange shrapnel from that clay pigeon is flying against the backdrop of a clear blue sky and bouncing off the ocean like skipping rocks at a pond. There is a resounding “yes!” and an ensuing fist pump as I do my happy dance. I nod to my competitor on my way to the viewing area. He smiles at me a little condescendingly; this isn’t over, and his confidence is apparent. He shoulders the shotgun, the bird is released, he takes aim, fires, and – he misses. Another bird is released and again he takes aim, fires, and – it’s a miss! I don’t do my happy dance; I want to, but I don’t. He walks over to me and slams the drink ticket into my hand and as he starts to turn away, I touch his arm. “I’m sorry, I guess I should have told you – I was a soldier.”