Gun License
by Brian St.Claire-King

Rose Murphy was 69, although if life could be measured in the responsibilities and hardships that one has taken on then she would count as much older. Like most everyone else in her neighborhood she was black. She lived with her three grandchildren, her husband long dead and her daughter bouncing between prisons, clean-and-sober homes and the apartments of no-good boyfriends. Rose Murphy was a devout Lutheran.

She dressed up for her appointment in her best church clothes. She had to remove her colorful church hat so they could attack the electrodes to her head. She was annoyed as the technicians messed up her neatly coiffed hair. She would have skipped this Saturday's trip to the hairdresser if she knew they would be this messy.

The examiner was pleasant young Asian man. He sat in front of her, his legs crossed, scrawling and tapping on a handheld computer with a little stylus.

He asked her questions about her past, if she had ever lost her temper, if she had ever been mentally ill. He asked if she drank or used drugs. He asked if there was any person or type of people she hated. "God loves everybody," she replied, "and Lord Jesus help me, I attempt to do the same."

"So," he said at last, "would you like to own gun?"

Her throat was dry and she had difficulty swallowing. She didn't normally lie, but, she told herself, this was barely a lie. "Yes," she replied, "I think I would."

"And what do you think the best thing about owning a gun might be?"

"Well… I'd feel safe. I'd feel like nobody could hurt people I care about. I could… you know…" she gulped, "maybe kill a bad guy." Her cheeks felt hot. She had definitely crossed over from half-truths to bold lies, and the examiner would surely know it. He looked up from whatever his handheld computer was telling him. He lifted an eyebrow.

"Mrs. Murphy, I want you to be honest with me. Do you want to own a handgun?"

She put her hands on her hips, pursed her lips. "I'm not going to answer your question. I know what might happen if I say no."

"Mrs. Murphy, I should remind you that you're required by law to…"

"Yes," she interrupted him. "I'd love to gave a gun. I just dream of pulling one out and blowing away some bank robber or terrorist." She frowned at him and, using her best 'I'm putting my foot down,' voice, said "there, I answered your question."

Four weeks later she got a letter from the State Handgun Administration. She opened it up and was horrified to read what it said:

"Mrs. Rose Murphy. After careful analysis of the results of your recent tests we have selected you to carry a handgun."

Glumly she phoned them up and made an appointment to go in for training. There she was issued her gun. With other new gun owners she had to sit through a film about gun laws, gun safety, first aid. The film showed the various parts of the gun, showing how to load, unload and clean it. The film showed how the little chip in the handle would test a gun owner's DNA before it would allow him or her to fire. It cautioned them that the gun would not work if they were wearing gloves or had a large amount of someone else's DNA on their hands. One of the people sitting behind her, a young homosexual man, made an off-color joke about how often he got someone else's DNA on his hands. Rose tried to ignore the joke, but her cheeks burned.

Then they took her to a firing range and with the rest of the class she had to fire at a target until she could hit it with five shots out of six. Her hands were arthritic and hurt badly but she managed to get it over with.

Rose took the gun home and hid it in a shoebox in her closet. She didn't tell anyone that she had it and she begged her grandkids not to tell anyone. It only took a couple of days before the pharmacist at the local drugstore said 'is it true that you got a gun?' Soon everyone was asking about it. Some of her friends even asked to see it.

The gun stayed in the shoebox in the closet until four days before Christmas. It was the middle of the night and she was awakened by a loud, insistent banging on her front door. She pulled her blue housecoat on and made her way to the front door. Looking through the peephole she saw little Ellie Connover, Shaniqua Connover's eldest child, in her pajamas looking scared. As fast as her arthritic fingers would let her she undid the chain and locks on her door.

"Ellie, what is it?" Rose asked when she got the door open.

"Momma says come quick and bring your gun!" she shouted, nearly out of breath.

Rose was going to ask what was wrong but realized there might not be time for questions. She hurried to her closet, pulled down the box, grabbed the gun out of the box as she made her way back to the front of the house.

She followed Ellie as fast as she could down the block. Shaniqua and her other two children were in the doorway of their house. When Shaniqua saw Rose she rushed over.

"Thank god you're here," she said, grabbing Ellie's arm. "It's him," she pointed down the street. There was a figure dressed in shabby clothes trying to turn the door handle of one of the houses. "He started banging on my door, saying I had to let him in. When I wouldn't he tried to break a window. When that didn't work, he went to try another house. He's been trying to get in every house on the block."

As they watched he started banging on the door of the house with his fist. "Let me the fuck in!" he yelled.

"He's got a knife," Shaniqua warned.

"Did you call the police?"

"Of course I called the police, but it could be half an hour before they get here."

"Well," Rose said nervously, "Why don't you…" she paused, watching the figure. He had stopped down in the garden in front of the place and picked up a big rock. He started banging on the door with the rock.

"Oh Jesus!" Shaniqua gasped, "Rose, he's going to kill someone. I saw his eyes - he's totally nuts. You've got to do something."

Rose shuddered, knowing that "do something" meant "shoot him."

"Get in your house and lock the door," said Rose. Shaniqua hurried off with Ellie.

Rose walked down the street. The security lights on the sides of the houses clicked on as she passed, supplementing the yellow glow of the street lights. "Young man!" she said, using the commanding voice that had become second nature to her while raising her children and grandchildren.

He stopped and looked at her. He dropped the rock and pulled a switchblade out of his pocket. He flicked it open and stomped towards her. As he came closer she could see he was a black man in his thirties. He had a beard and greasy hair, wore the clothes of a homeless person. His face was thin, eyes sunken, skin weathered. His hand clenched the knife so hard it trembled and his eyes had a wild look in them.

She pointed the gun at him, checking once more to make sure the safety was off. He came to a stop about five feet away from her, looking at the gun then at her.

"Are you a cop?" he demanded angrily, the words spilling out so fast she could barely understand them, "Are you a cop? You're not fucking taking me back there. They're trying to kill me, you fucking know that."

"I'm not a police officer," Rose said, "Although the police will be here soon."

"Give me all your fucking money!" he demanded, "And your jewels. And do you have a fucking car? You have a blue car, don't you? Did you try to run me over? Was that you?"

"I don't have any car and I've never tried to run you over. Look, I think you need to calm down because the cops are going to be here soon and if you're going to act crazy like this when they get here you're liable to get yourself shot."

His knife started to tremble more violently. "I'm going to murder you," he shouted, "You're fucking dead, do you know that? You fuckers think I'll take this lying down but I'll kill every single one of you before I take any more of that."

Rose heard one of her neighbors shouting from a window "Shoot him! For god's sake Rose, shoot him!"

Rose clutched at her chest where her little gold crucifix would have been had she had it on. She looked into his eyes, saw pain and fear there. She'd seen her daughter like this. Then she tucked the gun into the pocket of her housedress. "Well, go ahead and stab me then if that's what you're going to do. I'm a good Christian woman, I've never hurt or stolen from anyone in my life. I'm not worried about where my soul is going. If you're going to do something crazy like hurt someone it might as well be me."

He blinked at her, unmoving.

"Do you want coffee or tea young man?" she asked.

"What?"

"If you're not going to kill me I might as well make you something warm to drink before you catch a chill. I've got hot chocolate too if you prefer it."

He looked shock. "Um, I guess… coffee."

"Come on then," she said, turning her back to him and walking towards her house. "Now I'm not going to invite you in because my grandchildren are asleep in there, but if you sit on the porch I'll bring you a cup of coffee."

She asked him whether he wanted cream and sugar and she went in to make the coffee while he sat on the porch. Before she finished making the coffee she heard sirens. She looked out the window and saw the young man get up and bolt. A few moments later she heard an amplified voice saying "Stop! Stay where you are. Put your hands over your head."

She didn't want to get in the way so she stayed in the house. Her grandchildren were twittering around her wanting to know what was happening. When she was sure they had the young man dealt with she want out to see if the officers wanted any coffee.

She gripped her housecoat against the cold as she gave a statement to a police officer. "So you're a license handgun holder?" the officer asked.

"Yes," she said, a little ashamed, "I'm sure they'll take it away now."

"Oh really?"

"Well, I couldn't do it, could I... I just couldn't shoot that man. I'm not the right person to have a gun."

"Well, Mrs. Murphy," the officer said, "I can't really say whether you did the right thing. You made a judgment call, took a chance, and the way it worked out nobody got hurt. Just because you won the bet didn't mean it was a good bet to make, if you know what I mean. Could you have used it if you had to? I don't know. What I do know is that things have gotten a lot better since they decided to only give guns to people who don't want them."