Hide-and-Shoot


We've all played hide-and-seek, sure. One person counts to 10 or 20 while everybody else hides. Upon discovery, it becomes a game of tag. For Rhiannon, hide-and-seek becomes a scene out of Mr. and Mrs. Smith.

Two months ago, Rhiannon won a bunch of tickets from those age-appropriate games of chance at Chuck E. Cheese. But what to buy with them? It's like government. All of a sudden, we have an influx of cash. Do we feed the people? Or do we buy bombs? Rhiannon, a red-blooded American girl, goes for the ballistics. Hanging next to the Hello Kitty purse is a rocket launcher and three foam missiles.

"Dad! I want that!"

Um...okay.... "What about that nice Hello Kitty purse?"

"No! I want the rockets."

Done and done. We take them home where they are promptly forgotten. Until today.

Today, Rhiannon tears her room apart because it's a toy day as she is not feeling so well. Out come the rocket launcher and rockets. Our afternoon begins with her loading the foam rocket atop an eight-inch-long plastic cylinder which then nests inside another. As Rhiannon pushes down on one tube, air gets forced through the other, propelling the rocket on a wild flight (Tony Cat has stolen one of the rocket's three fins).

We play with Tony awhile, watching him chase the rocket, retrieving it, and then returning it to us. But you know what's more fun than shooting rockets over the cat's head? You got it.

Hide-and-shoot. It's all her idea. I swear.

"Dad!"

"Yes, Rhiannon?"

"You count to, um, twenty, and then come out and I'll shoot you."

"I don't know Rhiannon. I don't want to get shot by a rocket."

"It will be FUN!"

"Okay." I start counting. When I am done, the apartment is dead quiet. All of a sudden, it feels dark, and I'm a little scared. This reminds me a bit of the Assassination Game we played in college, where everyone in the hall drew names, one per week, of who to "kill" until there was only one of us left standing. No one slept.

Out I come, and as I draw closer to the kitchen, I start to hear giggling. There Rhiannon sits, behind the leather chair, rocket armed and ready, and then I am toast.

*POP*

It hits me square in the...

"DAD! I HIT YOU IN THE WIENER!" Rhiannon is rolling on the floor, laughing.

I have nothing to say to this. I am stunned.

"WIENER! WIENER! WIENER!"

"Okay, okay. Yeah. Go count."

Rhiannon goes to her room. "Dad! I am going to count to 9."

Nine? "Um, okay."

She counts. I hide. But I am tricky. I leave the pantry door ajar, but hide in the entryway, taking a low position.

"NINE!"

Rhiannon comes out. "Dad?" As if I'm going to answer to that now. This is war. Rhiannon pads down the hall, spots the pantry door, and runs right to it. As she peers in, I rise up behind her like an alien from Aliens. She turns around and jumps.

*POP*

"Dad! You shot me in the neck!"

Yes. Yes I did. Rhiannon falls over as if she's dead. I approach to collect my spent ammunition. Leave no trace.

"Be careful, dad. If you step on me, I'll be a carpet."

I laugh. "Don't worry. I won't step on you. It's your turn."

And so it goes. Spy v. spy. Until it's time for a cookie break. Even assassins have to eat.

Rhiannon. Secretly cute.

Andrew (Papa)