Time One night my stomach was bothering me, so I went to the grocery store to buy a roll of Tums. On my way out, I stopped to say hello to the store manager, a friend. We spoke briefly and I turned to leave as a burly guy came in through the exit door. I didn’t notice, at first, the stocking over his face. I stepped back and said, "Excuse me." He grabbed me, showing the glint of the .45 automatic in his hand, and slammed me up against the wall of the office. "Don’t move," he said as he jammed the pistol into the small of my back. "Don’t move." I heard other voices. I felt someone brush by as he climbed into the office and had the manager open the safe. I heard someone at the exit door say over and over "Time. . .time. . .time. . .time. . ." like the beating of a metronome. The man behind me pushed the pistol into my back every few seconds saying, "Don’t move. . .don’t move. . .don’t move. . ." I stood there with my forehead pressed against the wall, arms dangling at my sides. "What if he fired?" I wondered. If a bullet entered there at my back I would be dead or paralyzed. "Dead," I thought. "dead would be best. Don’t let them take my wedding ring." Time stretched. "Time. . .time. . .time. . . .Don’t move. . .don’t move. . .don’t move." Why wasn’t I more afraid? Why hadn’t I wet my pants? I didn’t know. It was all too surreal. "Time. . .don’t move. . .time. . .don’t move. . . ." How would they explain this to my wife and children if I were to die? How does anyone explain senseless idiocy? Did I survive a year in a war in Vietnam only to have it end in a grocery store a mile from my home? The pistol pushed into my back. The voice told me not to move. "Time. . .don’t move. . .time. . .don’t move. . . ." I wondered if I would feel pain as the bullet tore through my body. "I will go bravely", I thought. "I will not cry." I was so self-absorbed I didn’t even notice that the voices were gone until the store manager told me. "Are you okay?" he asked me. I nodded. And I was okay until I called my wife. "I’m fine," I told her. "I’m alive." My voice cracked. I waited for the police and gave my statement and finally went home. I hugged my family. I searched for a forgotten bottle of bourbon, finally found it, and had a shot. . .and another. I badly needed the roll of Tums I’d bought.