1.6 pounds plus the box it came in. No understanding of the world it was born into, just like me. I suppose that's to be expected, though. Babies aren't supposed to understand anything, and it was an inanimate object. We were made on the same day, bet you didn't know that. But I don't think that is anything more than coincidence. It would be years after that day -- the day we came into the world kicking and screaming -- when I would meet the gun.
Some guy bought it soon after it was put on sale. Hm. I'm sure that's not a surprise. From what I've heard, the guy's name was Lawrence. And everyone called him "Lawrence." Except his wife, she didn't call him anything. She had been dead for years. But when she was still thrashing about she called him Lawrence, too. Do you start to get this guy now? Good, it's important. I'm not sure anything from this point forward will make sense if you can't infer what I'm talking about here.
Why Lawrence bought this gun, I don't know. I've got my suspicions, but so do other people, too. A simple Smith & Wessen pistol. Not much more than some metal, and some gun powder to give it a little bite. Like a shot of cheap tequila with tabasco sauce. Brandishing a pistol in some damn bar is about the same with or without bullets. But when you put gunpowder into the mix, then you know that shot is going to burn.
Lawrence owned bullets. But like a responsible parent, he kept them locked away in his safe. (He was not a responsible parent.) Maybe he had the gun for security. Understandably, he needed to secure his security in a secure fashion so it could continue to keep him and his own secure. The boy, 12, from whom Lawrence locked away all manner of things, was the inquisitive sort. The kind who would mix all the chemicals together in a chemistry set, just because it's physically possible. So rather than simply let his behavior to go unchecked, Lawrence locked things away, physical and otherwise -- more on this later.
I suppose if Lawrence had never bought that gun, I would have never heard of him. I guess that could be true of anyone along this bucket brigade, passing forward (in due time) to the next person, until it put out fire. But it never had to be this gun. It could have been any gun. And had it been any other gun, I would have had no idea that Lawrence had not only kept the gun locked away from his son, but also his attachment.
Lawrence was a person you meet a thousand times, and never remember. He was the lick in the middle of eating an ice cream cone. Not the thrilling first bite, nor the savory last bite, he was plain vanilla ice cream. There was one person he had opened up to. But it was of no consequence; she had died in a car crash that should have killed the three of them.
The gun didn't protect them then. Of course not. But then again he didn't have the gun then. At that point in time the gun was just a number on a spreadsheet, a figure on a boardroom wall. But if he had had it? Would it have protected him? No. Lawrence knew that. And he knew that the only reason he had drifted from his own son (to the best of Lawrence's knowledge -- which was not wholly sufficient) was a fear of loss. Sure he "knew" that, but it turns out he was just lazy, and he used a "fear of loss" as an excuse for him not to try.
It picked that up from him. The gun did. It was a loner, and after Lawrence, it never really hung around with any one owner for more than a year or two. Odd for a gun, but of course it was only taking on the traits, molded by the hands that gripped its trigger. That's probably why it was this gun. Only this gun could have known what to do in the situation; only after years of learning would it have the reactions that it did.
Lawrence taught the gun patience. He was eternally patient. And not in the God-grant-me-the-strength-to-change-the-things-in-the-world-I-can-,-the-serenity-to-accept-the-things-I-cannot-,-and-the-wisdom-to-know-the-difference-kind of way, no. He was just afraid of change and afraid of confrontation -- of both people and problems. I'm glad the gun started out this way. For something so powerful as a gun, it's always a good thing if it is hesitant to act, once it touches your lips, no amount of thinking could ever put that shot back in the bottle. It moved towards the other extreme, as more people got their hands on it. But the most important news is always on page one. And I could still see Lawrence in the gun when it finally came into my possession.
The boy was 8 when his mother died. They were all pretty sad. Not too much more to be said about that.
For the next few years in his naive understanding of death, he thought at the time he'd be joining her soon, but that wasn't the case. I met the boy twice. But at the moment, that is neither here nor there. And even though he snapped out of it, Lawrence never did. The gun was supposed to be what got his heart pumping again. Or so he told himself when he bought it.
Lawrence had been dead for years when he bought that gun. He died in that car crash, too. The scientific definition of death is that time when you stop breathing and your blood stops flowing. Lawrence was dead, even though he was doing both of these things. But I never said science had all the answers.
The boy, though, the boy was very much alive. I'm happy about this. It's sad that Lawrence never lived, but I'm sure he must have found at least a modicum of enjoyment living vicariously through his son. Remember, the boy was the adventurous type. He knew things and wanted to know more things. He did pretty well in school, enjoyed himself in college, and got a job that paid him enough that he could do just about whatever he wanted to do. He liked it that way.
Lawrence sold the gun, 5 years after he bought it. Not 5 years to the day, or anything like that. The only date coincidence in this book is our birthdays. Mine and the gun's.
It hadn't brought him life he thought it would. It wasn't the gun that did him in, only the thought of it. It's a slower way to go than if the bullets straight up get you, but in geological terms, five years is over in the blink of an eye.
