I've given far too many drunken informal interviews to people who had no idea what they were getting into when they ask what happened to my arm. Sometimes I lie, and tell stories about fighting bears, or crazy ex-girlfriends and their mothers, or the consensus is that no story compares to the real according to Hoyle truth. There's just no two ways about it: You can't beat getting shot by your best friend.
Most people have the same reaction when they hear the story, moving from disbelief, to being astonished, to sad, to speechless, to hopeful. I'm more than used to it, I'm numb to it. You can imagine my surprise when I heard someone with an almost elated response upon hearing the story then. He wasn't excited that I was alive, he wasn't really that excited that I could still be friends with Michael, what he was excited about was the prospect of using my story to advocate for stronger gun control.
He wanted to interview me again, formally and sober.
He just agreed to a position working with Patty Murray in Washington DC. Sometimes I wish I had just told people it was a skateboarding accident that night.
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