I went out on my own pretty early in life. I lived with roommates, and then I got my own little basement apartment, but there were still other people in the house. Then I moved in with another roommate when I was 21. Now, in 2020 we can see that 40 is the new 21… but I digress… Anyway, I had to move out of my basement apartment because the homeowners were selling the house. I couldn’t find another place that I could afford quickly, so I started looking in the Roommate Wanted section of the newspaper. Yeah, that’s how long ago it was, I was looking IN THE NEWSPAPER.
Anyway, I found an ad that some guy had placed, looking for someone to share the house he was renting. The ad said, “Humorless need not apply”. So, I called him. And I took a drive to the house to meet him. I was 21 and he was just turning 40. But he had a motorcycle. And I had a helmet in my trunk – long story, another time – and it was like it was meant to be. I moved in a few days later. The first night I was there I was getting ready to go to bed and it suddenly occurred to me that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea, moving in with a 40 year old dude I didn’t know, but there I was.
As it turned out he was a house-painter by day and an auxiliary cop by night. So there was a gun in the house. He used to take me shooting at the indoor range in town and I had such fun! He was dating some woman in Rhode Island and would go up there a lot of weekends and I’d be all alone in the house, which I was NOT used to. I’d imagine all kinds of ax murderers breaking into the house, or zombies or something. I used to creep around the house late at night in the dark with a can of hair spray and a lighter, ready to torch any invaders. Eventually I got tired of that and I went out and bought a gun. It was a Smith and Wesson .38 Special, 6 inch blue steel barrel, wooden grip. It was pretty.
A few years later I was living somewhere else – the roommate had gotten engaged and moved to Rhode Island, so I moved in with his brother – another long story for another time – and we lived right on the water. We flooded one year and the gun was under salt water for a few days. I turned it in to the cops to dispose of and didn’t think about another gun for a long time.
Lately I’ve been thinking about a gun again. I’m in the south now, and everyone has them. Marty is a crack shot so I’m thinking we can go to the range together on Sunday afternoons and having shooting dates. I applied for my purchase permit today and will be taking the Concealed Carry classes in a few weeks.
I’m not sure exactly why I want one in the house, but… I do. And when I get these feelings there is usually a reason. Maybe this time it is zombies?