"Cold and Heavy"

(Note: Click to read related stories "I love my wife" and "Buttermilk Biscuit Blues")

This story right here goes out to one of my blog mentors and blog sistas the Ladybug Mocha a.ka. Tae, a.k.a "Diggs", the chick whose blog style I have jacked! You've been reading a lot of my stuff, and have noticed a few running themes along the way. You called to see if I was, uh, alright. (We yacked for like, 2 hours, didn't we? LOL!) Yeah, I'm cool. It was GREAT talking to you!

And this one is for you, chicken (inside joke)...

"Cold and Heavy"


Gun...

Cold and heavy in my hand.

An extension of my own hand, even of my very bones.

The scent is like that of a sack of pennies, coppery and new, ready to spent.

It’s loaded. The hammer is cocked.

It’s aimed at its target, and ready to be shot.

Fred bought the gun for me three years ago, back in 1978, for my 27th birthday. He’d given me a small box wrapped in pretty pink paper topped with a large fluorescent bow that changed colors in the lamp light. I thought it may have been the usual box of Calgon that he bought every year, but the box was too big and heavy to be bath salts. I got all excited about Fred buying me something different for a change.

But I opened the frilly box to find a simple black plastic case containing a gun. I carefully picked the gun up and held it in the palm of my hand.

It was cold and heavy.

"Happy Birthday, baby," he yelled. I jumped at the sound of his deep booming voice.

I glanced down at the gun in my hand, then back up at Fred. It was strange to see such a big smile on his face. Come to think of it, it was strange to even see him at home on a Friday night. He should've been gone long before now.

He could've at least given me a box of Calgon. I could never have too much Calgon bath salts around.

"Well, this is, um. . . nice. Thank you." I held the gun out to him. "I’m sure you will make good use of it, because I have no idea what to do with it."

Fred closed his hand over mine and pushed the gun back towards me. His gold pinky ring sparkled in the lamp light.

My breath quickened. I forgot how warm and soft his hands could be.

He stood before me, hands deep in the pockets of the black slacks I’d just pressed for him. "Didn’t you say there been a few break-ins on the block?"

"Uh, yes."

"That’s why I bought it. That’s your gun, and I’m gonna show you how to use it. I’m not ‘round here much, and you need somethin' just in case someone tries to break in."

I caught the hard "Ha!" before it jumped out of my mouth and slapped him across his face. I smiled and nodded as if he’d made the most thought-provoking suggestion known to man.

He had some nerve. He could be here at night with me and our son instead of running the streets cavorting with his girlfriends. It would almost serve him right if a burglar broke in here and stole everything we had.

It crossed my mind to gather up all of Fred's fine clothing, expensive cologne, fancy watches and pinky rings and sit them all out on the carport. I could get our son to use his fingerpaints to draw the word "FREE" on a poster board so I would stick on top of his belongings for all to see. It would serve him right, all of his fancy stuff getting snatched up.

"Yes, yes, I see ya smilin', Sylvia. You like that, don’t cha?"

I sat there, same plastic smile plastered on my face. I wasn't really smiling. I was just showing my teeth.

Fred could never tell the difference.

Fred eased down on the bed next to me and draped his arm around my shoulder. "Baby, I’m taking you to the gun range. There’s a couple of nice ones up in Cobb County. We’ll go out there and see how you do, a'ight?"

I didn’t really hear a word he said. I just knew that he was close to me, his body against mine. I could smell the fresh scent of his cologne and aftershave. I reached out and touched his forearm, patting it gently. He leaned in and kissed me on the cheek.

He got up from the bed and jingled his car keys. "Well, I’m gone. See you in the morning."

Seconds later, the front door closed and the familiar sound of his Cadillac revving up broke through the silence of the evening.

My birthday caused him to pause for only a moment. Who was I to think that it was enough to keep him home tonight?

I balled up the gift wrapping paper and threw it on the bed. I placed the box on the top shelf of the closet and pushed it far to the back, next to Fred’s gun.

Fred was true to his word. He took me to the gun range a few times. The first time I shot that gun, it scared me so bad that I let out a yelp and dropped it. Fred caught it before it hit the floor.
He placed it back in my hand and stood behind me, covering my hands with his to show me how to grip the gun. I had the hang of it after a couple of shots, but I pretended that I didn't understand what I was doing. I relished leaning back against my husband’s muscular body. It was as close as we’d been in a long time, and I made sure to enjoy ever second of it.

But now, some three years after the fact, I stood in the darkness of the bedroom staring down at Fred. . .

. . .With the cold and heavy gun in my hand.

Fred slept soundly, his snore loud as a rushed train trying to keep its schedule.

I could just shoot him, then get rid of the gun. He was worth more to me dead than alive. I could just say that robbers kicked in the door and shot him.

I raised the gun and pointed it at him.

A faint whisper cut through the darkness. "Sylvia."

A cool hand reached around me and gently took the gun away.

"Now Sylvia," he whispered, his voice rushed. "You said that you wanted to come back in here and get your gun. You got me waiting all out in the car. You got it, now let’s go."

“I know, Lester. I know. But―”

"But nothing, Sylvia. Let’s get out of here."

I turned and reluctantly walked out the door with the man that drove the bus I caught to work every morning, Lester Johnson.

We’d been seeing each other for the past few months.

We'd fallen in love.

He was taking care of things that Fred had long ago neglected.

And now he’d convinced me to run away with him.

I turned around as I exited the front door of my home. I held on to the wooden screen door. I was leaving everything. My home. My child. My husband. Lester and I were running off to California, never to see Georgia again.

"Sylvia," Lester whispered against the darkness, his breath hot against my ear. "Baby, Let’s go."
I stood there, still gripping the edge of the screen door, my feet heavy as lead.

Lester rubbed my arm. "Sylvia, I'm taking you away from all of this. Let's go."

I opened my mouth to speak but there was no sound. A tear slid down my face.

"Sylvia!"

My eyes snapped open to Fred pulling on my arm. It took me a moment to gather myself and to realize that I was lying in the bed caught up in a dream or something. The alarm clock was going off, sounding like a stuck car horn.

"Sylvia," Fred barked, his voice lower than normal and heavy with sleep. "You gonna have to do somethin' about that alarm. Turn it off!"

I reached over and smacked the alarm clock, knocking it off the end table.

I sat up and turned on the light. A few deep breaths brought me back to reality. I looked around for my housecoat, which had slid from the bed and fallen to the floor sometime during the night. I slipped my feet into my house shoes.

My face was wet with tears. I wiped them away with the collar of my nightgown. "What do you want for breakfast, Fred?"

He stretched and yawned. "The usual."

I glanced at him. "Alright."

"And turn off that light," he mumbled from under the sheet. "I’m gonna try to get a lil' more sleep if I can. You gonna have to get better about turnin' that alarm off after the first beep."

I looked over at the open closet, at the top shelf where I kept my gun. I wondered if it would feel as cold and heavy in my hand as it felt in my dream.

I pushed that awful thought from my head. I needed to get up and get ready for work. Our son needed to be awakened and gotten ready for school. I needed to get breakfast on the table.

"Alright Fred, alright. Breakfast will be ready in an hour."