Trigger-finger motionless, I half expect to become demon possessed and jolt forward, but everything remains still and peaceful. I can’t tell if each passing moment contains more or less courage.
Will my ears ring? Will I even hear the gunshot? How long will it take me to die? Am I supposed to aim at the roof of my mouth or the base of my spine? Is this is why they don’t teach you about suicide, so you don’t know?
The handle adjustment aims the gun towards the roof of my mouth, because that makes the most sense. The site scrapes more skin from my palate. Maneuvering the weapon, I find a comfortable position.
CRUNCH – gravel grumbles under moving tires. A baby blue station wagon cruises up our driveway. My thumb jumps from the trigger.
Oh, shit! I’m not supposed to be here.
In seconds, the weapon is reloaded and lies in its holster. The white plastic Safeway grocery bag slides back in place.
I’m still in my underwear.
In a flash, I’m up in my bedroom, pulling on a fresh shirt and jeans. The car rolls to a stop. The new arrival is Mabel, one of my mom’s church friends. Mom said that she might stop by.
You have to smile. Mabel can’t think anything is wrong, no one can.
Keeping a Christian smile on your face is a well-developed skill, practiced every Sunday on our way to church. Dad screams on the ride there and then we go off to Sunday School keeping up the illusion that our family is perfect. Walking outside, I paste on a grin.
Mabel asks, “Hey Bubba, is your mother home?”
“No, but she should be back in a couple hours.”
“Oh… okay. She said I could pick some squash from her garden, but I don’t want to do it while she is gone.”
“It’s fine. She told me you might come by. Dad planted a couple packages of seeds so we have plenty.”
Mabel scrunches her face up, thinking. “Squash is a hardy plant. They grow anywhere. You don’t have to plant that many seeds to have a decent crop.”
I reply, “That’s why we have plenty. Would you like some help?”
“Yes, could you be a good boy and fetch a wheelbarrow?”
“Yes ma'am.” I reply with a smile.
Mabel walks beside me as I grab our wheelbarrow and asks, “How are things with the family?” Mabel asks.
“Great.” I reply and follow her to the garden like a good boy is supposed to do.
snowghoul
vaporwave
2087
discoholicmusic
kianamaiart
dededos
romaincrisis
janainaart