{"id":13052,"date":"2016-08-19T07:00:27","date_gmt":"2016-08-19T14:00:27","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/bullmensfiction.com\/?p=13052"},"modified":"2022-08-03T13:14:42","modified_gmt":"2022-08-03T17:14:42","slug":"the-gun-i-used-to-own","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/fiction\/the-gun-i-used-to-own\/","title":{"rendered":"The Gun I Used To Own"},"content":{"rendered":"

I\u2019m upright in my bed day-dreaming that I could fall asleep when I\u2019m interrupted by the clash of a couple, drunken, presumably, skirmishing beneath my bedroom window\u2014 the pair are shouting acrimonious words back-and-forth like a tennis match drenched in gin and hatred. I can\u2019t discern the source of their disagreement, but from the woman\u2019s exchanges I believe her to be the victim and from the sound of her embittered voice I believe her to be pretty. I would confirm her appearance, the color of her hair, her height, her clothing, but I am afraid. Afraid I\u2019ll be seen. It wouldn\u2019t be difficult for the man clamoring below to seek out which unit my head was searching out from\u2014a head soliciting the shape of his <\/em>woman. He is likely overprotective, and might race up to the third floor and BOOM! burst upon me. And what could I do if he did?<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 I used to own a gun, but I sold it less than a year ago. A Star 9MM pistol that had a long black beak and a sand-paper grip that, when cradled in the palm of my hand, made me shiver.<\/span><\/p>\n

The gun used to belong to my father. Holding seven rounds in its chamber, it took me a few clips to adjust to its sharp eruptions. I would fire it at a scant shooting club north of town. Clementines, the range was named after the owner\u2019s mother. After a few visits, I brought with me a poster of Bret Favre and requested the staff to staple it to my target. They did, his yellow helmet substituting for the bulls-eye.<\/p>\n

My father would be sore if he knew I pawned the gun. Someday, he told me, you\u2019ll have someone to protect with it. He told me about the time he used it to protect my mother and I. I was too young to remember, but just after midnight one evening a pair of up-to-no-good youths were clanging around in our garage. There is a still a bullet hole above his tool bench. A warning shot, he said. But he\u2019s dead now, and as I age closer and closer towards senility I find the conception of God and Heaven to be more speculative than sensible, so I really shouldn\u2019t stress the woes of my dead father. I told the clerk at the pawn shop that I needed some scratch to pay the electric bill, but that wasn\u2019t why I sold it.<\/p>\n

The sincere reason I parted with the gun was that it scared the living hell out of me. I feared that with it I would do something irrevocable. Severe. Permanent.\u00a0 But I long for it now. If I still had it I could pop my head out the window and yell down towards the damsel, \u201cEverything ok , Ma\u2019m?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot in the slightest!\u201d she yells back. The fella is a large block of expired muscle sporting a flat-bill baseball cap and a white shirt with reflective text that reads: Submit<\/em>. He raises one of his branches, aiming a finger at me, \u201cStay out of this, brother.\u201d<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t like that. No, I don\u2019t like that one bit.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m down my hallway quick, the gun secured into the waistband of my sweatpants, its metal skeleton shuttering away the shadows of my trepidation. I\u2019m through the door and into the stairwell, taking two and three of the carpeted steps at a time, finally reaching the ground floor.<\/p>\n

Only a glass door stands between us now. The man\u2019s back is staring at me. Inviting me to strike. Towards the damsel, I motion my index in front of my lips. She nods with understanding. The fella grips his hands on the woman\u2019s shoulders and shakes her, back and forth and back and forth, her screaming throughout. Her bellow drowns my opening of the door. I\u2019m but a few feet from him when he turns. I yank out the Star from my waistband and smash it towards his skull. He submits, sinking to the pavement, crimson draining an inch from his perfect hairline. I take the damsel\u2019s shaking hand, leading her up the stairs into my apartment. I shelter her in a blanket and warm her a bowl of spaghetti, telling her that she is safe and secure. That I have protected her, with my gun.<\/p>\n

But I no longer own a gun or have a father. I no longer have the courage to peer out the window, down to the parking lot, to see whether or not the damsel is indeed pretty.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I\u2019m upright in my bed day-dreaming that I could fall asleep when I\u2019m interrupted by the clash of a couple, drunken, presumably, skirmishing beneath my bedroom window\u2014 the pair are shouting acrimonious words back-and-forth like a tennis match drenched in gin and hatred. I can\u2019t discern the source of their disagreement, but from the woman\u2019s […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-13052","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","writer-paul-thelen"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13052","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=13052"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13052\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":13053,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13052\/revisions\/13053"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=13052"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=13052"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=13052"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}