The Write Woman Considers a Gun (260 Days to Graduate)

          

“Okay Ernie, I’m going to spin the wheel,” I say with the fingers of my other hand crossed behind my back for good luck. Bending over the platform, I grab the metal peg and give the wheel a whopping shove. Rotating a gazillion times the wheel finally comes to a halt on one hundred thousand dollars.

The audience roars and it’s no wonder. That’s quite a chunk of cash.

            Ernie could blow his nose with that much money without giving it a second thought. Still, he appears pleased with this bright yellow card for his contestant. He picks the triangular card up and hands it to me. “Okay, Rebecca. What is the next letter?”

            Looking at the game board on the wall with Peggy poised elegantly to the side as she pauses to readjust her bra that has dropped on one side, I think extra hard. “Is there an N?” I ask, half squinting my eyes, fearing it’s the wrong letter.

            “That’s correct!” Ernie announces as Peggy turns the final letter around in the word ‘gun.’ The room thunders with eagerness and the clapping is full of electricity.

            The cue cards flash that the show’s breaking for a commercial and then the lights on top of the cameras flash off. The conversation, however, continues.

“Peggy, did you know that in this country, anyone is allowed to own a gun of his or her choosing such as a Bushmaster .223-Caliber Assault Rifle without a special permit?”

            “No,” she says, placing her hand over her mouth. Her eyes blink huge with exaggeration. She strolls, using long strides, over to Ernie standing relatively close.

            “Let’s be honest, Peggy.” Ernie drapes his arm across her shoulders and she giggles a little. “If you could have any gun you want—any gun at all—which one would you want to have in your home for protection?”

            Rolling her eyes around as if she’s giving the question considerable thought, Peggy finally says, “I would want a great big cannon.”

            “Wait a minute,” Ernie answers pulling back and shaking his head in disbelief, “A cannon like they used in the war—the type that protrude from the side of a pirate ship—that kind?”

            “No, the kind that are high on the castle wall protecting the princess from the dragon and witches,” Peggy says, twisting her pose to the other side and smiling with her hands in the air in a giant V. “Besides, those Bushmasters are for shooting multiple targets at once, like the shooters at post offices, schools, and shopping malls. Why would private citizens need them unless they’re farmers overrun by a herd of crows?” She swings her arm in front of her face as if shooing away a fly.

            “Herd of crows?”

            “Of course I’ve heard of crows. I wasn’t born yesterday!” Peggy feigns ignorance and insult. “Something else I heard was that it’s time to get real with the wheel!” Jumping up and down she claps her hands wildly and the audience joins in. Turning on her heels, she meanders back toward the wheel.

            I pipe up. “Peggy, are you suggesting that private citizens don’t find it essential to use automatic weapons in their every day lives, as opposed to military or other guarded servicemen?”

            “That’s exactly what I mean.” Peggy stops and half turns, looking over her shoulder. “Ernie, speaking of military servicemen, did you hear the one about the CIA and their torturing methods? That’s a little confusing to me.”

          

    Ernie looks at me as if I will have the answer. Fortunately for him, I do. “Yes, their torturing methods are unconstitutional and too mean. They are searching for a way to get information without hurting their feelings. Maybe since they’re into positive reinforcement, they can offer them something useful for the information.” I tap a finger on my chin and turn my eyes to the ceiling, as if in thought.

            “Oh, we know that answer don’t we Peggy?” Ernie’s enthusiasm is amazing.

            Bending one knee, Peggy places a hand on her hip and one in the air—sort of like a teapot. “If they give a right answer, Ernie, we sent them home in a spanking brand new car!”

            The audience applauds with passion. Whistles break out from the back.

            “Seriously,” I say interrupting the cheers from enthusiasts, “If we can’t rely on our own government, what are we supposed to do, call some other country to come to our rescue?”

            “It won’t be Britain,” Ernie says with a smirk, “Unless they have a year to plan ahead. James Bond is that country’s number one defense, but the script has been hacked and the movie isn’t even ready to be released for a year.”

            “That’s Sony’s fault, not Britain’s,” Peggy says in Britain’s defense. “The Sony agents aren’t very smart at all, if you ask me. In fact, they are on the forefront to delivering another September eleventh U.S. catastrophe for Christmas.”

            “Hmm, that’s odd.” Ernie stares intently. “How can movie productions have enough clout to start a war?”

            “Well,” I say, “When the movie entitled The Interview is released, James Franco and Seth

Rogen can be credited for smearing our country’s name. The film insults North Korea, poking fun at their leader Kim Jong-un. While the aim may have been junior high level comedy, this isn’t a good time to point at North Korea and laugh. They’re considering pointing right back at us over this, unfortunately not with their fingers.”

            “Wow,” Peggy says, “I always thought Sony Pictures Entertainment was a big named movie producer with a lot of smart people running the place. Perhaps I could get a job there, Ernie.”

            “I’m not so sure that would be a good move,” Ernie says, tugging the bottom of his jacket down. “I don’t think they have a place for you, unless you took the letters on the board with you. I have a feeling Sony either needs to buy a lot of guns or admit they’ve had a good run and close up shop. It’s not looking good. In fact, their own employees are suing the company and say they've been plunged into an epic nightmare, much better suited to a cinematic theater than to real life.”

            Peggy’s eyes tear up. I remove a tissue from my purse and wave it at her. She receives the tissue and wipes her eyes. “Wow, Ernie. All those bright careers flushed down the tubes because of a few stupid people trying to make a buck from our country at the expense of our country. That’s messed up.”

            The director tells us the show is back on in three… two… one. The lights on top of the cameras light back up.

            “Did I win?” I hope the game is over because I’m growing uneasy standing around talking about this when I ought to be preparing for the war.

            “Yes you did,” Ernie says, pointing to the lit up numbers in front of me. “You’ve won seven-hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Not quite a million, but a far cry from what you started with.”

            “Thank you.” I smile, my eyes welling with tears.

           Peggy claps her hands and beams from ear to ear.

            Ernie directs the next question to me. “Can I ask what you’re planning on doing with all that money?”

            I look out over the faces in the audience and I see teachers, store clerks, college students, and a lot of futures that won’t matter until something changes. We still have so much to share.

“Guns for everyone,” I shout. “We’re going to need them!”

Now, if you’re considering a story that is a bit on the twisted side, you’ll want to read “Delilah in the Dark.” Make sure and express your thoughts after.