Note: This will be a series of short stories from my trip. I will add onto each page as time goes on.
Stepping out of the airplane and onto the jet bridge in Columbus, Ohio immediately took me back to Florida. If I wasn’t inundated with advertisements on the walls welcoming me to Ohio, the hot, humid air alone would’ve been enough to convince me that I was at the St Pete-Clearwater airport. But, before I could get much farther in my thoughts, my grandma Connie began to talk.
“So, according to the signs, baggage claim and the rental car place are to our right, right?”
“Yup.” I nodded as I glanced up at the green and purple signs guiding us through the terminal.
The Columbus airport itself reminded me very much of the Minneapolis airport. It was small and not too crowded, even though we were among the herd of passengers getting off our flight. We walked past a few small travel shops, then through a set of automatic doors that led us past security and to a set of escalators that led down to baggage claim. Once at baggage claim, it didn’t take long for our luggage to end up on the luggage carousel. First, I helped an elderly man who was struggling to get his luggage off the carousel, then went to grab both mine and my grandma’s suitcases, which were both next to each other.
I didn’t have any time to rest before we were racing to catch the shuttle that would take us to the rental car place. We jogged out a set of double doors into a parking garage, and I was immediately hit with a wave of hot, muggy air that I could practically drink. We were packed into the shuttle bus like sardines, and I did my best to hold my breath as we endured the longest five-minute drive of my life.
I tried to get my bearings straight by watching the scenery fly by out the foggy bus windows. However, all I saw were deciduous trees that seemed to be drooping from the heat, construction zones, and a glimpse of the runway. Then, we arrived at another concrete structure: the rental car garage.
As soon as the bus was slowing to a stop, I stood up and yanked both mine and my grandma’s suitcases off the luggage rack. I’m pretty sure the bus driver yelled at me for standing up so early, but I was ready to get the hell outta there. The doors opened and I practically jumped down the stairs with a suitcase in each hand. My grandma Connie was close behind me. She, too, was ready to get the hell outta there.
Things continued to be a blur till we were in the parking garage, staring at the closed trunk of our black Nissan Altima.
“Alrighty.” my grandma Connie sighed, “How do we open the trunk?”
I looked at the key fob, noticed an icon for the trunk, and pressed it down till the trunk popped open.
“There we go.” I nodded as I handed the keys back to my grandma, then I knelt down to put our suitcases inside.
Day 2:
The air was hot and sticky when we arrived to the shooting range in Marengo, Ohio. There was a breeze, but it wasn’t enough to offset that terrible heat. The shooting range offered no shade, except for the occasional pop-up tent that everyone rushed to get under. Good thing I’d planned ahead and carried an entire backpack filled with ice and water.
While I sat broiling on a log bench in the heat, Jeremy was busy practicing his movements. In his belt, he carried a factory 9mm pistol, and many, many magazines with custom blue-purple ends. He ran through his route several times until the range officer (RO) called everyone to attention.
All the shooters circled around him as he gave instructions. I could barely hear what he was shouting, but I could tell that the RO was giving everyone a rundown for that particular range.
The competition was split up between 20 or so different ranges. Each range was different, with different routes and rules for each shooter to follow. For simplicity's sake, let’s just say that the shooters were practicing speed-clearing a house, and shooting various cardboard and steel targets as they moved through. They were scored based on how close to the center of the cardboard targets they got (alpha for a center hit, charlie for a middle hit, delta for an edge hit, or mike for a miss), and how many steel targets they managed to knock down. After each competitor shot, the other shooters and RO would help with scoring and covering the holes in the cardboard target with tape.
Because there were roughly 300 competitors at the range at a time, the competitors were split into squads of 15-20 shooters. Each shooter was assigned a number to organize them in a line. Each time a shooter shot, their position would change for the next range. For instance, when Jeremy would shoot first at the first range, he’d be the second to shoot at the next range, then the third after that, and so on.
Overall, the competition was extremely well organized. Albeit still very hot.
When it was Jeremy’s turn to shoot, he tossed me his phone.
“Here! Stand just behind the RO and film me.” he nodded.
“I’ll try my best!” I replied, whipping out my own phone to film with, too.
Jeremy stepped into a little orange rectangle on the ground, then the RO stood just behind him with a stopwatch that beeped when the time started.
As soon as the beeper went off, Jeremy took off with me and the RO just behind him. He shot at the targets as he ran, almost never stopping until all the targets were shot. As soon as Jeremy’s pistol was back in its holster, the RO stopped the timer, and Jeremy led me out of the obstacle. I thought it was the coolest thing ever!
“I shot like shit!” Jeremy hissed.
“I think you did awesome!” I replied, “That was great.”
“Not great for me.” he shook his head as I handed him his phone back.
Jeremy was obviously frustrated by his performance. I may’ve been impressed. But him? He was pissed at himself for getting one too many charlies, and not enough alphas.
“Oh well…” I sighed as I followed him back to the bench as the next shooter began his run, “You made it to nationals. That, in itself, is hella impressive!”
Jeremy glanced back to nod at me, before turning around to finish reloading his mags for the next range.
Since I had plenty of time till Jeremy would shoot again, I rushed back to the car to get some AC going. I wasn’t feeling sick, but I was sweaty and didn’t want to take any chances.
Amazingly, however, I stayed outside and endured the hot, humid, Flo-er I mean- Ohio air for the next four ranges. Each time it was Jeremy’s turn to go, I’d stand close behind him and film, getting better and better at filming each time. Likewise, his shooting improved every time he shot. However, I could tell that Jeremy still was frustrated by his performance, as badass as it was.
Back at the Airbnb, everyone took turns taking showers and watching over dinner as it baked in the oven. Cindy was making “hobo pockets” for everyone, which consisted of beef patties stuffed with vegetables.
“90% of it is up here!” Jeremy said as he tapped his temple, “If my mind isn’t in the right place, I won’t shoot very well.”
“Your body, too.” his mom, Cindy said, “You need to take care of yourself, too.”
Jeremy didn’t say anything as he dug into his fast food Doordash order.
“I can tell you’re not feeling well.” Cindy continued, “It’s because you don’t eat nearly as well as you should. Pre-workout does not count as breakfast!”
Jeremy continued to scarf down his meal, while I slowly picked at my store-bought sashimi. Cindy was certainly right, but I wasn’t gonna say anything.
“We’ll see how well I do tomorrow.” Jeremy burped as he swallowed his last bite of food.
“What time’s Lena comin’ in?” Diane, Cindy’s sister asked.
“Prolly midnight.” Jeremy shrugged, “I’ll stay up till she gets in.”
“Alright.” Diane said, “Speaking of bedtime, I’m going to bed. I’m tired.”
“So am I.” I agreed, swallowing the last of my raw salmon without chewing it, “I’ll get in the shower before I go to bed. I smell like ass.”
“Don’t we all?” Cindy chuckled.
