Shit.You scramble to your hip for your handgun and nearly lose your grip, but ha, its still in your hand. You aim at the handle and fire, once, twice, sending a fresh wave of excited cheers through the monkeys above.You slam your shoulder into the broken door and barrel through just as the creature leaps at you.You curse and scramble back on your ass, watching it flail and roar and reach for you, hunger in its dark eyes - but it's stuck. It's too wide, and its body is jammed between the house and the thick fence on its left.It nicks your forearm with the tip of its claw and you curse at it, scrambling further back and finally pulling your rifle off your shoulder. The old thing is rickety, held together with tape and prayers by this point, but it does the job as you point it at the creature’s head and fire.Bang. Bang. Fuck, still moving. Bang.The third shot finally stills the damn thing and it slumps, a furious look still etched into its maw. You breathe heavily and stand, looking at. Sundays, however, were our designated days of separation and the reason for weekly battles between Becky and her mother. "We just study, Mom," Becky would say. "You can just study apart," her mother would answer, with finality.On Tuesday, I got to play-practice late and Becky was frantic. "You were going to be here for dress rehearsal," she said, almost near tears."I'm sorry, I got held up. I'll see you in the second act on Thursday night," I said. I really had been held up. Priscilla had called and it took me twenty minutes to convince her that I was not coming to her apartment, ever again. But I didn't want to tell Becky my reason for being late. If she asked specifically, I would have told her about Priscilla but she didn't press me.I went to the Thursday night performance alone and sat with Greg and Trisha for the Saturday night show. Naturally, I cheered when the curtain went down after the second act and stood and cheered when the entire cast came on stage for the final curtain.
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