The game...what a friend.

When I was in college, we were always looking for something fun to do. On a couple of occasions we set up and played a game called "assassination". In a nut shell, everyone in the game received a "contract" for someone else in the game. Your task was to locate your target and shoot them with a dart gun. You could only carry three darts at any given time, but you should pick up any that were on the ground that missed it's target or missed you. You could only shoot at your target, or anyone shooting at you. Once your target was hit, you would take the card he/she had and seek their target. There were other rules to improve safety and limit effects on school efforts and sleeping.

On one occasion, my close friend was shot at by his assassin, but missed. Over the next several minutes was a dart gun battle as neither one could hit the other. Hiding in the doorways and coat racks of the music building, these two traded shots back and forth, picking up the missed shots and trying over and over to hit the other. Several of us were leaning back in the hall, arms folded and enjoying the show.

Eventually, my friend ran out of ammunition and was in a "tight spot". Taking a deep breath, he bolted from his hiding spot, across the foyer, barely avoiding a dart that flew past him. He reached the crash-bar of the door on a run...but found that the door had literally been chained closed by the facilities group (broken hinge or some reason). The sound of shattering glass filled the room as it crashed to the tile floor.

In a flash, the amused observers of which I was a part, bolted in a panic up the stairs so as not be be associated with the broken door. I led the pack (quite the chicken) into one of the second floor practice rooms. I slid onto the piano bench and opened the keyboard before my butt stopped sliding and began playing "Fur Elise". My audience crowded into the room (which was filling beyond it's capacity) while we innocently pretended to be oblivious of the actions we had witnessed moments before.

As I plunked away on the piano, I began to realize that my actions were not those of a friend. My thoughts turned away from the broken door (while still banging on the piano keys) to one of my best friends ever. I imagined him as he lay in a pool of blood nearly directly below us. My panicked state irrupted to a new height, as I finally removed my fingers from the ivory colored keys. Spinning on the bench, I slid toward the door and stood up, attempting to squeeze through the panicked group.

To my great relief, I came face to face with my sweaty faced friend, wide eyed, but absent of the blood I had just imagined. Finally having a better presence of mind, I asked him if he was OK, to which he indicated that he was. The two "shooters" decided that they would declare a cease fire until later in the day. The facilities group, gratefully, were not concerned with the broken door as they realized they they, not us, were more liable for any damage or injury that may have occurred. Sometimes, events really do play like a well written piece of music.