21. Slingshot

“You got it,” Mick says. I can’t tell if he’s impressed, or shocked.

“I didn’t mean to,” I say. I did, but I didn’t want it to actually happen. I wanted to hit one of the cans or the bottles we’d stacked on the crates like everyone else. When the boys egged me on I didn’t think I’d actually make the shot. If I had given it any thought, I would have just used a bloody stone.
“It’s still moving,” Billy says, crouching down to inspect the thing, “Look!”
To my horror, he’s right. The little house sparrow I’ve struck with a cat’s eye is still alive, despite how wretched I’ve left him. He’s trying to move one of his wings but it’s caught in a twitch, like something just won’t shift the way it’s supposed to.
“Should we…” Billy stares at Mick and me, I avoid his gaze.
“Seems like the most humane thing to do,” Mick sighs.
“Pete should do it, he’s the one who shot it down,” Wayne quips, looking at me with a nervous expression.
I feel myself go cold. My hands are going numb at the thought of finishing the job.
Mick nods at Wayne’s comment and walks towards the pile of bricks that sits in the corner of the abandoned block. I reluctantly follow him. Punishment fits the crime. I guess I’ll try to find the nicest brick that I can to end the poor sparrow's life. Or the heaviest.
“You don’t have to do this, Pete,” Mick says quietly when we get to the pile.
I stare at the old red bricks that have W&W carved into them and try to think about which of them I’d like to be the last thing I ever see.
Mick puts his hand on my shoulder, I feel thick, hot, tears run down my face.
He bends down and picks up one brick that’s slightly redder than the others. There are no chips out of it, just a few hunks of mortar left attached to it.
“This one,” he says, handing it to me gently.
I carry it with both hands back to where the other boys are standing, surrounding the bird-like mourners at a burial.
I take my place over the bird, its tiny body lies there in agony and I can’t bear to look.
“Well, go on!” Wayne urges.
“Shut up Wayne. Hold the brick up higher, Pete, you want to get it on the first go,” Billy instructs. I reluctantly hold the brick over my head and make the mistake of looking down once more |My arms go weak. I drop the brick beside me as tears flood my eyes and stream down my face again.
“Jesus,” Wayne mutters. Billy shoves him into the dirt.
“It’s alright Pete,” Mick says softly, “Maybe we can take it to that crazy lady across the road. She keeps birds, right?”
I nod through the sobs. Last summer, I fed her cats for a week while she was on holiday in Broome. She had a whole big cage of birds in her backyard, I think she called it her aviary. Mick takes off his shirt and gently picks up the bird, wrapping it up carefully.
“Come on, mate, we’ll sort this,” he says to me as he stands up. We follow him through the gap in the fence and out to our bikes. As we walk back to the main road, Wayne catches up with me.
“Do you want this back?” he asks through short breaths, holding out my marble.
I shake my head.
“So…can I keep it?” he asks.
Billy elbows him hard, “What the hell is wrong with you?”
He takes the marble from Wayne’s sweaty grip and hands it to me, “here,” he says unceremoniously.
“Keep it. One day, when you’re old, you’ll remember the day you shot a sparrow down with your brother’s slingshot and how we all saved it.”
I smile at him and slip the marble into my pocket. I hope that he’s right.