In A Cabin Up North

8 Apr

We rented a cabin in a state park up north. It was nothing fancy. Just a hard twin bed, a rocking chair, a small electric heater, and some nice looking old wood for floors and walls. And a charming little porch. I’d do anything for a porch. If you want me to do something for you, build me a porch and the favor is done. The cabin was on a lake and it was windy and cold and beautiful. I’d also do anything for a lake.

It rained on the second night we were there. So we sat in the rocker eating bread and cheese, watching the rain fill up the lake, listening to it pour like hands clapping. No other sounds, until, a knock at the door. I wanted to ignore the knock but that seemed like the wrong thing to do. I got up and looked out the window of the wooden door. There was a beige state trooper hat attached to a tall man with darting eyes. I ignored my instinct not to open the door because of the hat. Maybe he was there to relay a storm warning.

I opened the door. The first thing he did was take off the beige state trooper hat. He dropped it, or threw it, or the wind picked it up and it was gone. Then he ran into the cabin. He pulled out a small generic gun, like the ones in movies. I don’t know about guns. It was just a regular silver handgun. He pointed the gun at me, his eyes still darting like he was high or scared or both. I sat back down in the rocker. We both sat and rocked while he pointed the gun at our faces. He said nothing. We said nothing. He was shaking. Two three four minutes passed. And then he put the gun down on the table. Not to surrender. Just to adjust his pants or get something out of his pocket or take a bite of our bread. He looked down and my body jumped up and grabbed the gun. No thoughts. No words. Just me and a gun, like Tori. Me and a gun. I pointed it at him and he said the first words any of had said up to that point. He said, you don’t know how to shoot a gun go ahead and try to shoot me. First of all, he was two feet away from me. Second of all, before we came to the cabin, I had been watching this show about the KGB in the eighties, which had a lot of gun play. There was even one episode where an FBI agent showed his co-worker how to shoot a gun. So I was not feeling entirely inexperienced in that moment. Plus the adrenaline.

I was pointing the gun at him, not looking at him, but looking through the hole on the top of the gun, like the FBI agent said to do. I was looking through the hole and I took a deep breath and pulled my finger back to push a bullet out. He was right about the first bullet. I thought it went through his shoulder but I missed. Two feet away. I missed. He laughed. So I did it again. And the second time, it went through his throat. It went through his body and I kicked him in the nuts and he fell to the floor. But instead of the loud thud his body should’ve made when it hit the old wooden boards of the floor, his body broke, shattered into a bunch of tiny pieces like a ceramic plate. Tiny like dust. I sneezed and the dust that was once the fake state trooper flew into the air and out the open door into the night, into the lake, and I put down the gun and we ate more bread and cheese and continued to watch the rain.


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