I didn't see the brick leave Ricky's hand, but I watched it soar through the air. It was a good throw, not unlike a football. It had arc, speed, and for a minute, I hoped pointlessness.

Tires shrieked, and the window exploded in hail of glass. The car hit the curb and slid to a stop. Because of the wind, I could actually smell the foul stench of burned rubber. The four of us froze as a man jumped out. He ran to the other side of his car and stared at the mess we made of his window. Then, one by one, we laughed. Ricky was the loudest, then Ty, me, and Tracy.

Ty yelled and pointed. "Look, he's crying like a baby."

Ty was so loud that everyone heard, including the driver. I remember then feeling a sudden pain in my stomach.

Our victim turned away from his smashed window and glared at us. He didn't yell or speak. He just stared like he was trying to see in our faces the reason we had done that to him.

Then, Ricky grabbed his nuts and yelled, "That's what your ugly ass gets."

It wasn't even funny, but we laughed just the same. Tracy was laughing so hard she grabbed my arm to keep from falling.

The pain in my stomach grew and I knew something was coming. I could feel heaviness in the air. I turned my head from left to right, looking around us for my mom, a cop or someone who knew us. It wasn't guilt; it wasn't fear, not exactly. It was something a child shouldn't feel. I didn't know it then, but now in my old age, I understand that feeling. I know it because I sense  it when I can't stop coughing, when my chest hurts and I hope it's only heartburn, when I pause going up the stairs to catch my breath and when there are no more immediate family members to call on the phone.

But, back then, I just felt wrong. At that moment, the sun went behind a cloud, and the world became a bit darker. The man hadn't moved. I thought, that fat fool is going to try to chase us. It was a silly thought. There was no way. By the time he crossed the street, our young legs would have taken us blocks away. We were completely safe. We got away with it, and there was nothing he could do about it.

When his hand went behind his back, Ricky and Ty were still pointing and laughing.

Tracy had stopped. Her grip on my arm tightened. She knew; she saw him just as I did.

The sun came out just as the silver gun did. The shine was almost mesmerizing. I couldn't take my eyes off it.

I don't remember Tracy screaming or anyone else saying anything. The bang, bang of the gun is all I recall hearing; that and the thunderous pounding of my heart as we ran.

How far did we run? I don't know, but when we stopped, there was only Tracy with me. Somewhere between the houses, alleys, and fences we jumped and tumbled over, we lost Ricky and Ty.

Tracy and I, scraped, bruised, and sweaty, knelt on the ground behind someone's garage, desperately trying to catch our breath. Tracy was crying.

"Are you hit? Are you shot? Tracy, Tracy." I remember shaking her, maybe a bit too hard, but she didn't answer and continued sobbing. For a while, I just sat there. My mind was blank, and all I knew was the ache in my stomach, and the bitter taste of my half-digested breakfast coming back for seconds.

"I can't do this no more. I can't." Tracy stood, began wiping the tears from her face and started walking.

I stood and silently followed. She was so pretty, so young, and she almost died. I almost died. She was right. I knew it more than I had ever known anything. She was right.

We saw Ricky and Ty the next day. They did not get hit either. Turned out the guy only shot up into the air. He wanted to scare us. He succeeded.

Tracy and I broke up less than two days later. She didn't say why. She didn’t have to and I didn't argue. We had both nearly thrown our lives away doing something foolish, and neither one stopped the other. Neither of us was the voice of reason. We were a bad couple.

Eventually, the summer came to an end, and we all drifted apart. It was like, just seeing one another brought the fear of that day back, and that was something no one wanted.

I decided to change my life. I studied in the library where no one ever got shot. I got a part-time job. Many kids laughed at my Burger King uniform, but it gave me spending money and taught me how to follow orders and be on time.

Years later, I am a college grad, a family man, happily living the middle class life in the burbs. I sometimes think of Tracy and wonder what became of her. I don't wonder about Ricky or Ty. They never made it to middle age or anywhere close to it. I guess for some it takes more than a brush with death to change their life.