Choose the one that fits best according to the information given in
the passage you have just read.
When I was about 12 years old,
my older brother, James, smuggled a BB gun into the house. Our parents had told
us many times that we were not allowed to bring home guns or knives, even if
they were just toys. Having any form of weaponry in our home was strictly
forbidden.
James brought me to his room. He
opened his closet door and took out a shoebox that was buried beneath a heap of
clothes. The BB gun was inside. I was immediately enamored by the shiny barrel.
"Can I shoot it,
Jamesie?" I asked, hopefully.
"Noway,"James said,
taking it from me and putting it back.
One day, when no one was home, I
went into James' closet and took it out. For some in explicable reason - I have
no idea what I was thinking - I went to the front window of the second floor in
our row house. I cracked the window open. I pointed the gun outside and shot. I
quickly shut the window and peeked outside.
In a matter of seconds, old Mr.
Schlosberg came out of his grocery store. He looked back at his store window.
He looked up the street. He looked down the street. Then he looked straight
across to our house.
Thankfully, Jamesie made it home
before Mother or Father.
As he stepped through the door,
I could hear old Mr. Schlosberg call his name. "James, James," he
called. "Come here, son."
After several minutes, James ran
back across the street and into the living room. I had retreated into the
kitchen. "Alma!" he screamed. "Get out here! You cracked Mr. Schlosberg's
window with my BB gun!"
"Oh, please, Jamesie,"
I begged. "Don't let him tell Mother. She will whip my bottom real
good!" Jamesie sighed. He wiped my tears and went back across the street
to Mr. Schlosberg's. I don't know what James said to that man, but there was
never a mention of the incident again.
Years later, I found out Jamesie
had used the money he got from his newspaper route to pay for Mr. Schlosberg's
cracked window. He only got one cent for every paper he delivered. He managed
to pay back the debt just before he went off to fight in World War II.
Since that day, I have never
touched a gun: a BB gun, a water gun, a real gun, or any other type.