by C C Roth
Mike gawked at her in disbelief. “But, you guys don’t know how to shoot. Do you? Where did you even get that?”
They shared a knowing look. “I’ve owned this gun for five years,” she said. “I have another in the cabin that I’ve had since I was in my twenties. I never wanted guns to be a part of your lives so I never talked about this or let you see it. But this is part of who I am and part of who I have always been.” She said it matter of fact, holding the gun up slightly as if we were supposed to nod hello or something.
“It’s hard for me to explain and probably harder for you to understand but there are parts of my life that you don’t know about. Parts that I haven’t shared with you before.”
Dad placed a supportive hand on her shoulder. She was choosing her words carefully and bracing herself.
“When I became a mom, I swore this kind of thing wouldn’t affect my kids and that I would keep it separate. But I just can’t anymore. You need to learn how to shoot to survive.”
It wasn’t much of an explanation. It was so typical of her, not giving more information than she had to.
“I don’t get it, Mom,” I said frustrated. “What does that mean? You work in insurance. What does shooting guns have to do with being an insurance agent?”
Dad poised his hands as if to say, “Chill out, Sam.” But I had no intention of chilling out.
She took another breath. “Well, I’m not just an insurance agent. I do work in risk assessment but a different kind of risk. I’ve actually worked for the government since I was out of college.”
An incredibly long pause followed while I waited for some kind of punchline.
“What, like a spy or something?” Mike asked.
She smiled a little, “No, nothing exciting like a spy. More like a CIA officer and these days I just do consulting. Like an advisor. Really it’s a lot of analysis and sitting at a desk. I do work in insurance, that wasn’t a lie. I just also still do some work for the government occasionally.”
I think I would have been less surprised in that moment had a pink elephant wearing a bikini passed right in front of me. What the hell? The woman I’d known my whole life as a mild-mannered, over-protective, brownie baking-mother was transforming before my eyes and my brain was not processing it well. She stood there for a long moment just letting us take it in.
After a minute she shrugged and said, “I know you weren’t expecting this and you’ll probably have lots of questions but I’m hoping that maybe now you guys can understand me a little better. And who knows, you might even have fun learning how to shoot. I always loved target practice when I was young.”
I don’t know why I got so mad but before I knew it the words were flying out of my mouth.
“This is bullshit!” I screamed at her. “You lie to us our whole lives and now you all of a sudden, what? Want us to be excited about it or something? What is wrong with you?”
“Sam—" Dad tried.
“No, Dad. This is beyond fucked up. Who the hell are you anyway?”
I turned and marched off to the cabin before she could respond. The tears were stinging my eyes and I tried to blink them away so no one would see. Seriously? She’d lied to us like that for all these years? Who does that? My whole life I’d felt separated from her like we were strangers and I always thought it was my fault, that I was the different one. I wasn’t as pretty as her, or as well mannered, or as graceful and I certainly wasn’t as reserved. Well at least I finally had the confirmation I needed that I was absolutely nothing like my mother. I would never have done that, lie to my kids for their whole lives. Suddenly I felt validated and disgusted all at once. I’d been right about her, she’d been a stranger all along. But somehow her betrayal made my life feel like the lie.
I sat on my bed in the loft, rubbing the treads of my boots together. I could hear my family’s voices outside in low waves of conversation. Mike was of course taking this much more calmly than me like he did everything else. There had been times in the past, like most of the time, when I knew I had overreacted with my mom. But this was not one of those times. I had never felt more justified in my anger with her than in that moment.
The front door opened and I could hear her footsteps coming up the stairs. “Sam? Can we talk?”
I didn’t say anything so she sat down on the bed next to me. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I never wanted that. I love you so much it’s impossible to put it into words. I never wanted to lie to you but I also didn’t want you in danger.” She rubbed her face in frustration. “How do I explain this? Our world is a strange place sometimes and there are people, really bad people, that don’t agree with what I do. People that might be angry because I help our government try to stop them or interfere with their plans. I’m proud of my country and I’m proud of my service but that doesn’t change the fact that there are people who hate us. People who would want to hurt us anyway they can. Just look at where we are now. I never wanted to put you or your brother in danger, so I hid what I do. I hid it from everyone to keep you safe. It was part of my negotiation with the department that my family never be involved or aware of my involvement. Does that make any sense at all? Can you kind of understand?”
“No. Not really. I don’t even know who you are.”
“I get that. I do. I’m sure it feels that way to you but for me it feels like you are finally seeing me for the first time. I’ve desperately wished for years that I could share this with you but I’ve felt like I had to hide who I really was. It was easy when you were little but then you both grew up so fast and I didn’t know how to take it back. Sometimes I was so grateful that I didn’t have to talk about what I did, that I could just leave it in my office and live in this world where I was someone else with a normal job. But sometimes I also wanted you to see me as more than what you thought I was, or at least just see me. The real me.”
She sighed and rubbed her hands together as she searched for the right words.
“Maybe it doesn’t matter that you understand the why. Maybe it only matters what we do from here. I know we aren’t as close as we used to be and I hate it. I feel like you’ve suspected something for a long time and maybe I’ve kept my distance more than I should have and for that I’ll forever be sorry. You’re so smart and I think maybe I resented it at times because you didn’t believe me anymore. It stopped being easy. Did you know you used to think I was the funny one?” She laughed and I couldn’t help but smile a little at the thought. It wasn’t really a secret that my dad was the comic relief in our family.
“I love you, kiddo. But I’m not perfect and keeping this from you may have been a huge mistake. But it may also have saved your lives at one point. If no one knew what I did then no one could target us. I guess it doesn’t even matter now but how you feel does matter. I want us to be closer, I do. But that won’t happen if you can’t forgive me at some point. Maybe not right now but someday do you think you could try to forgive me?”
I wanted to stay mad, it was such an easy emotion, but she had never talked with me like this before and it was truly unnerving. A million questions were rolling around in my head. Now instead of asking in disbelief I genuinely wondered, who was this woman?
“So, what do you do for the CIA exactly?” I asked, finally meeting her gaze.
She exhaled, relieved I was speaking to her. “I do a lot of research and then I report my research to a team so they can make decisions that help keep our country safe. Well, I used to. I have been out of contact since we left our house so I don’t know that anything is safe now. I don’t even think I still have a job.”
“Have you ever killed someone?” I asked.
Her eyes cast downward, a troubled wrinkle forming above her nose. “Yes, in a way I suppose I have. I am in part responsible for some of the decisions our military has made in the past about whether or not to attack or run an operation. So although I’m not the soldier on the ground I do feel those deaths.”
“Do you know who attacked us? Who started the
Avian-X virus?”
“I don’t know anything for sure but I do have my suspicions like everyone else. The CIA asked me to come in when this started and I refused. I wanted to keep you all safe. I worked as much as I could from home to send them all of my data regarding a few terrorist groups we’ve been watching but there wasn’t anything conclusive. And since I wasn’t a part of the internal team I don’t know if they landed on an answer or not. I don’t even know what’s left of my contacts at this point. I figured if they wanted me badly enough they would send someone to come get me. But I wasn’t going to leave my babies.”
I didn’t know what to say about any of it. It was all too bizarre. We sat there for a minute not talking, just quietly being. I wanted to hang on to my hate but she had explained so much of it away. How could I hate her for wanting to protect us? That would make me the asshole. I remembered something she used to say to me when I was little and angry with someone. How would you feel if you were in their shoes? Can you picture yourself as the person you’re mad at? It’s just something adults say to kids but for some reason it popped in my head at that moment. I could even see her face as she’d said it to me so many years ago. So I tried to imagine myself as a mother who loved her kids but was forced to live a secret to shield them from a danger they could never understand. I tried to imagine what that would do to me, if I could even handle it. I didn’t know how she’d managed it all this time. I stared at my mom’s face and suddenly felt awash in guilt for every time I’d been mean to her these past years. Yes, her secrecy had made our relationship strained but it must’ve been ten times as hard on her not to say anything.
“I’m sorry for being an ass,” I finally said. “I didn’t understand why…I thought that…I felt like…I don’t know.” I was fumbling and getting emotional, it was not a comfortable state for me. I could feel the tears stinging my eyes again and I hated it.
She grabbed me and gave me a big hug. “I’m sorry baby. I messed up. We used to be so close and at some point I started keeping my distance because I thought it would be easier somehow. I love you so much, you know that?”
A part of me did know but the rest of me couldn’t help but feel like she could still be lying to me. I guessed it didn’t matter and all her mushy emotions had me more than confused so I let it go for the moment. If she wanted me to know more, she would tell me. We hugged for what felt like forever, but I didn’t care. I’d missed my mom.
3- Everyone Needs a Friend
We started our shooting lessons the next day despite my protests. The gun still seemed intimidating and alien to me. It was mostly black with a long steel barrel and a U-shaped shoulder strap that hung from middle to end. Mom handed Mike the rifle first, then me. Letting both of us feel it and familiarize ourselves with how it was put together. She explained every single part and how it functioned. Her tone was steady as she described in too-much-detail the inner workings of this strange device and how to load the five-round magazine. She stressed over and over again that we were to never point a gun at something we weren’t willing to kill. I’ll never forget holding it for the first time. It felt weird in my hands, harsh and menacing and I couldn’t hide my displeasure about this bizarre thing that had entered my life. Nothing about it was natural to me. My palms were starting to sweat just from thinking about having to shoot it.
“Okay, I think that covers safety basics for now. Why don’t we go do a little target practice? There’s a good spot at the bottom of this hill here,” she said pointing. “This way the hill will be behind our target and we won’t accidentally shoot anything we don’t mean to.”
Dad and Mom set up a target for us against the hillside, a plank of wood they’d drawn circles on with a marker, and we followed them as they walked about 30 yards away. A part of me was so nervous and apprehensive. I had grown stronger and more confident over the past couple months, but this was different. This thing I was about to pick up could kill someone and thinking about it was intense. My hands started sweating again. Luckily, Mike said he’d go first. Mom coached him on how to stand and hold the gun, how to aim it, and find his target. She said not to hold our breath or clench our teeth and warned that it was going to be very loud even though we had stuffed small earplugs in our ears.
Loud didn’t describe it. I stood behind Mike and watched him aim. He took his time then pulled the trigger. Immediately a chunk of dirt flew upward from the side of the hill. The blast almost knocked me out of my skin it was so massive. It made my ears ring as it echoed throughout the woods. Mom put her hand on my shoulder and patted me reassuringly; I must’ve jumped higher than I’d thought.
“Good, Mike,” Mom said as she approached him. “You did a great job. This time try to keep your eye on the target and not the end of the gun.”
He nodded as she stepped backwards in place next to Dad and me. Mike pulled the bolt to load another round and fired again, this time he hit a corner of the wood plank. He turned with a big surprised grin and pumped his fist in the air.
“Nice!” Mom cried out. She’d lightened up and seemed like she was having fun. “You’ll do great, with just a little practice time you’ll be shooting like a pro in a week.”
He shrugged, “It wasn’t so bad, I guess.” He smiled at me as he passed the rifle back to Mom.
“Okay, Sam. You’re up.”
She held out the rifle for me and I hesitated. I wanted to protest again but it was already explained this was not an optional exercise…and the anticipation on her face made me think I’d be hurting her feelings by rejecting the weapon.
I stepped forward and took the rifle from her slowly. It was an awkward transition and I nearly dropped it when she let go. She helped me place it against my shoulder and showed me how to hold my head, just as she’d done with Mike. She pushed my elbows down and positioned my body. It felt foolish, standing in such a foreign pose. I peered through the scope until I found the target then tried to hold it steady. All I could think was how ridiculous I must have looked.
“Now remember, Sam, you’re not pulling on the trigger. We don’t want to jerk the rifle off target. Think of it as a gentle squeeze as you exhale. Got it? Just take your time, there’s no rush.”
I gave a non-committal sound and shifted in my stance. This was so dumb. Mom stepped back behind me giving me some space. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. What a ridiculous exercise. What the hell was I going to do with a gun? Shoot one of my toes off probably.
But then I thought about the men on the road that attacked us and shot at us after we’d left home. I remembered how scared my parents had been for us. I thought about all the horrible news reports we’d listened to about bombings and death everywhere. How someone had detonated a nuclear bomb in our capital and stolen hundreds of thousands of lives. I thought about that night back at home when I found Mike crying in front of the TV and I remembered that cold feeling that had taken up residence in my gut. I felt it again as I stood there in front of my target, but it was stronger now. It was like it was calling to me, welcoming me home with a frigid hug of acceptance. I opened my eyes slowly and with an acute awareness of serenity I suddenly didn’t feel so awkward anymore. Instead I felt in control and peaceful. A chill spread through me from my center all the way to the tips of my steady hands. I stared at the target in front of me and released my breath as my finger squeezed the trigger it had been resting on. I didn’t hear the shot, though I know it thundered through the hills. I didn’t feel the recoil, though I know it knocked me backwards. I didn’t feel excitement as the center of the target exploded a handful of splinters into the air. All I felt was the coldness inside me growing, spreading out It’s frosty fingers and taking up more property.
I felt It smile at me as if to say, I knew you could do it.
Voices from behind me snapped me out of my foggy haze and back to the real world.
“Whoa! That was awesome, Sam!” my brother shouted. “Not bad for a first shot, huh?”
I was frozen for a moment as I
tried to understand what I had just done and how it should feel. Quickly, I pushed the strange coldness back into It’s dark home in the corners of my mind and focused on my family. They were excited, I should be excited too, or at least pretend to be. I didn’t want them to see what was lurking inside me, this cold…thing. I didn’t want to see it either. Not yet.
I turned and shrugged, trying to seem indifferent. My dad was grinning proudly and Mike was beaming.
My mom studied me with laser focus for a brief moment then joined in the celebrating as she walked toward me, arms outstretched.
“My baby girl, a chip off the old block after all,” she said in a playful voice. “Now all you have to do, is do that every time and you’re set.”
I rolled my eyes, “Settle down, guys it was just a lucky shot.”
“Well, lucky shot or not I think we should end on that note for the day and pick it back up tomorrow.” Mom put her arm around me as we all walked back to the cabin together for lunch. “See it’s not as awful as you thought, right?”
“No. Not awful at all. The opposite, actually.”
“I had some of my best times when I was doing basic training. I’m so proud of you for trying, Sam. You’ll never forget your first bullseye.”
“Yeah, it’s not so bad. Could be fun I guess.”
“You’ll be punching paper at 300 yards in no time.”
“Huh?”
She chuckled and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Never mind. That’s just firing range lingo. I’m proud of you, kiddo.”
Mom called it a big day of firsts but to me it would always be a day of lasts. That was the last time a gun would ever feel like a stranger to me. The last time I would ever feel fear like I had before. And the last time I would ever feel alone. Firing her rifle had awakened something within me I couldn’t yet grasp or maybe didn’t want to. But it was there, awake and ready to take away all my fears and doubts. And it was not going to be ignored. I wish things had ended up differently but wishing gets you nowhere.
