Ten days later, after the mandatory<\/p>\n
state waiting period, I pick up my gun.<\/p>\n
The dealer gives me shit, says I didn\u2019t bring<\/p>\n
the right kind of second i.d. \u201cA gas bill,\u201d<\/p>\n
he says, as if I\u2019m stupid, \u201can electric bill,\u201d<\/p>\n
or a \u201chouse cable bill. Nothing else.<\/p>\n
Repeat it.\u201d I repeat it like a jackass.<\/p>\n
My wife emails me the cable bill and he<\/p>\n
still won\u2019t accept it. Ambles to the back<\/p>\n
to ask the owner. At this point, I know<\/p>\n
he has it in for me. Something he doesn\u2019t<\/p>\n
like\u2014I\u2019d bet it was my wife having to<\/p>\n
help me. I sniffed the misogyny on him.<\/p>\n
Finally, his boss says it\u2019s a go and he<\/p>\n
halfheartedly slides the sword-silver box<\/p>\n
to me, my dummy rounds, my box of ammo.<\/p>\n
I\u2019m thinking people like the gun dealer<\/p>\n
are the reason I\u2019m walking out of the store<\/p>\n
with my new gun, a Beretta PX4 Storm,<\/p>\n
people, who for no reason gave me shit.<\/p>\n
People who just knew they could and so<\/p>\n
they did. But it\u2019s mine now, and more,<\/p>\n
my gun-hating wife helped me buy it.<\/p>\n
I place the bag, as if it were groceries,<\/p>\n
in my trunk, merge into traffic, relieved.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I never shoot on weekends, always on weekday afternoons.<\/p>\n
It\u2019s too busy on Saturdays, and busy at the range means<\/p>\n
danger\u2014at least to me: the slim, pretty girl on a date<\/p>\n
who has the \u201cshakes,\u201d the worker warning her, \u201cI can\u2019t let you shoot<\/p>\n
unless you calm down, okay?\u201d She says she\u2019s okay, looks back<\/p>\n
at me because I\u2019m staring. I am staring because I\u2019m evaluating.<\/p>\n
She can\u2019t stop laughing. Her date is a clueless hipster<\/p>\n
who had asked the worker earlier if he could he plug in his cellphone.<\/p>\n
The worker said no. The hipster was lucky he hadn\u2019t asked<\/p>\n
one of the meaner workers; \u201clucky bastard\u201d I think. I\u2019ve<\/p>\n
faced down the mean ones before, who made you feel stupid<\/p>\n
for asking something basic about guns. But this guy was young<\/p>\n
and cool and his girl was hot, so I guess he can get away<\/p>\n
with appearing detached. His date continues to laugh.<\/p>\n
She\u2019d laugh even in the range; I\u2019d later hear her through<\/p>\n
my earmuffs. But until then, I wait and watch the large<\/p>\n
Filipino family come in and take a lane. I hear them plan<\/p>\n
a pig-hunting trip and a visit to Arizona to buy more guns.<\/p>\n
They\u2019d also laugh really hard inside the range. I look at the boy<\/p>\n
with his father, a blonde boy, like my own son. No more than<\/p>\n
ten; the youngest they allow. I\u2019m thinking of bringing my<\/p>\n
own son in. So I watch the boy who seems very relaxed.<\/p>\n
I want my son to stop playing video games. I don\u2019t want him<\/p>\n
to turn into a man who loves video games, a man who can\u2019t<\/p>\n
tell the difference between the screen and real life, a man<\/p>\n
who needs to ask where he can plug his cellphone in<\/p>\n
at a gun range. At last, I get my lane: #9. I shoot three<\/p>\n
boxes of ammo. My hands feel unsteady. I am nervous around<\/p>\n
so many flaky people, but if shooting teaches you one thing<\/p>\n
it\u2019s how to ignore the world, how to violently separate<\/p>\n
yourself from others\u2014not in the literal sense of course,<\/p>\n
but in a spiritual plane. Number nine is my lane.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Novices go hunting<\/p>\n
in the lining of true pockets,<\/p>\n
the airplanes that breathe air<\/p>\n
like human beings, if you know<\/p>\n
enough, the copier flies American,<\/p>\n
instinctually like a big bear<\/p>\n
in the sky. Imagine that. Silently,<\/p>\n
the stars make acquaintances;<\/p>\n
they\u2019re also new to the job.<\/p>\n
And I do remember 1980<\/p>\n
as a child, a young child.<\/p>\n
The smell of my aunt\u2019s Gremlin,<\/p>\n
that hot, plastic scent of the<\/p>\n
interior and the exhaust,<\/p>\n
the thin palm trees that swayed.<\/p>\n
Even then, always ruminating.<\/p>\n
The smallish plot already<\/p>\n
developing. And why should<\/p>\n
it bother me? The inch-like<\/p>\n
presence? No moon-landing<\/p>\n
for me. No moon-lander. I guess<\/p>\n
with every gun there\u2019s an assault.<\/p>\n
But this isn\u2019t turning violent,<\/p>\n
I have my dog with me<\/p>\n
tonight, the kids gone, so why<\/p>\n
write about that? The people<\/p>\n
down the street have good<\/p>\n
skulls, the people further<\/p>\n
down the street have ugly<\/p>\n
hearts. You can sense that<\/p>\n
type of thing. Maybe it\u2019s their<\/p>\n
big ass house with no one in it.<\/p>\n
Maybe it\u2019s the fact I once<\/p>\n
saw two tie-wearing men<\/p>\n
playing b-ball in their front yard.<\/p>\n
That type of thing doesn\u2019t<\/p>\n
make for close neighbors.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
… I pick up my gun …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"featured_media":2683,"template":"","categories":[9,49,119],"tags":[554,6,555,556,557,558],"class_list":["post-2682","article","type-article","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-aquifer","category-literary-features","category-poetry","tag-alejandro-escude","tag-aquifer-the-florida-review-online","tag-dros","tag-guns","tag-lane-nine","tag-virulence"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n