Too Close to the Falls by Catherine Gildiner

won the expensive rifle displayed on the wall which had a sign attached:
Donated by Gold’s Sporting and Hunting Shop for Christmas of 1953, retail value $88.98.
I was theonly one to get that score and I reached in the bottle. I had been this far before and lost but this time Roy said he felt a rustling in his bones and sure enough I won the double-barrelled rifle with the mahogany handle. Everyone crowded around and I could hardly lift it when Buzz took it down off its wall hooks. As I stood next to the gun everyone laughed because it was as tall as I was; Buzz caught the moment with his Brownie Starflash and my toothless grin was forever immortalized as the “1953 winner” on the wall between the men’s room and the bowling game. The best part of it all was that everyone seemed to be having such a good time.
    I didn’t need a ballistics test to know that I couldn’t arrive home with a rifle I’d won by playing a bowling game at a tavern on the Tuscarora Indian reservation. First of all, I had no desire to alert my mother to my secret life as the Annie Oakley of the electronic bowling set. Surely she’d keep closer tabs on my delivery schedule, curtailing the best part of my life. Secondly, she’d suggest I give the gun away to someone who hunts and that would be to Dr. Carroll, my parents’ friend, the local veterinarian. It seemed weird to me to save animals during the week and kill them on the weekend. I figured I won the gun and I could give it to the person of
my
choice. I had seen Black Cloud admiring it and looking through its sight several times since it went on display in the fall. I went over to Black Cloud and laid it on the bar, knowing he didn’t like fusses. He put his hand on the barrel and that was the only time I saw Black Cloud smile so you could actually see his teeth.
    Aside from the seating arrangement and the neutral turf bowling game, there was one other rule at Shim-Shacks. No one talked while the television was on. It would have been as rude astalking in the theatre during a movie. Most people still didn’t have a television and they were captivated by whatever was presented. There were only a few shows on a day and usually we silently watched the TV test pattern — that same Indian in profile in a full war party headdress amidst concentric circles — until the screen sprang into animation at 6:00 p.m. with the
Howdy Doody Show
. We at Shim-Shacks sat in rapt attention with those in the peanut gallery, listening to Buffalo Bob, laughing at Chief Thunderthud, Princess Summerfall Winterspring, Clarabell, and Mr. Flubadub. This dinner theatre was taken totally seriously with all serving, eating, and game-playing done before
Howdy Doody
’s commencement.

    One cold winter day before Christmas Eve, Roy and I were dreadfully behind schedule. We had far more prescriptions than usual to deliver and as the day wore on several people had invited us in for some Christmas cheer. Usually we hit the reservation before anyone was up and left the medication between the doors, but it was too cold for that this day and we were hours late in getting there. Instead of lunch we had dinner at Shim-Shacks, and as we got back in the stage coach I noticed one bag had fallen on the floor. I picked it up and read aloud the prescription stapled to the front of its white bag:
“Mad Bear Power. Tuscarora reservation. Phenobarbital 120 mg. Sedative. Taken three times a day/or as needed. Emergency — deliver immediately.”
    â€œUh-oh, kimosabe, we should’ve been out there first thing,” Roy said, slamming the car into gear as he quickly drove out to the far edge of the reservation. As we approached the Mad Bears’ mailbox by the side of the road, I always held my breath when I saw the carved wooden figure perched on top — an angry bearrearing and baring its teeth. Mad Bear’s family needed a lot of medicine and I’d been there before,