Getting Along with Two Men
by Hyun Sook Lee Senteno
I step into an indoor shooting range. I feel energy draining out of me at the sound loud enough to pierce through my eardrums. A staff member hands me a piece of paper, and on it, are over 20 different instructions and warnings. I sign the document to note that I had read and understood it. I hand in my driver’s license and walk over to the assigned shooting stall. I put on the safety goggles and earplugs. My husband had already trained me on the basic shooting stances and rules, but I am nervous at the thought of shooting a gun in real life. I actually hear the muffled sounds of gunfire through my earplugs, making my heart plummet to the ground and shoot back up only to hide behind my back.
The guns we brought are a Beretta 380 and a 9mm. My husband pushes the target out to a 50-meter distance. He puts the gun into my hands. The gun, loaded with 10 bullets, is rather heavy. The chill felt on my palms spreads all over my body. The target shaped like a human torso is painted in black. I glare at it and pull the trigger with my index finger. The sound and the recoil of the fired bullet pushes my torso back. White smoke rises from the muzzle. With the flash of gunfire, the smoky smell of fireworks embraces my nose. The empty shell falls, hits the top of my foot and rolls on the ground. I aim the gun again. The target wavers minutely and soon becomes overlapped with a forgotten memory of mine.
It was when I had been running a liquor store, not long after I had migrated. Five Korean couples working in the same industry were having dinner together. Mr. Park, in his mid-fifties, told us a story about how he was robbed a few days back. When the masked robber pulled out a long shotgun to aim at him, he was so frightened that only later did he realize his pants had been completely soaked. He had urinated on them. Other men at the table made fun of him saying, “Haven’t you been in the army?”
I thought that would always be someone else’s story until one day, a robber, hiding his face under a baseball cap, pushed a deep black object to the very center of my chest. “Money, money,” he yelled as he shoved a gun into my stomach. I could hardly breathe. If I make the slightest movement, the unsightly thing would leave a hole in my heart. Fear came to me as a foggy smoke, completely filling my head into a white void.
This is how I’m going to die. He moved like a slow-motion movie, his motions left a trail in my eyes and then grazed by. My son’s face came to me like a dream. He is waiting for me at home. I must live. I prayed that the man would just take my money and leave. My lips were parched. A few minutes felt like ten years. With the sound of the wind, he was gone. My legs then gave out and I fell to the ground.
Where had that overwhelming threat come from? Why was I unable to move? Was it because the man became stronger with his gun? Or was it because the mere tool in his hands had become a lethal weapon with the owner’s malicious intent? Or was it his eyes—the frigid chill emitted from his pupils—that chained me up? Yes, his eyes radiated with murderous spirit, much more terrifying than a bullet. The muzzle was aimed at its target, petrifying me with fear. Why did it seem to get bigger and bigger? I might have become stiff because I was getting sucked into the dark abyss of the gun’s barrel.
The police had rushed over after they had received a report. After filing some documents, they asked if I had been carrying a gun. If a shop owner counterattacks inside the store, it is an act of self-defense. But if the robber takes even one step out the door or turns his back against the owner and is shot, it is then considered a murder. I didn’t understand how the good and evil could change sides in the flip of a hand. Thankfully, I didn’t have a gun. If I did have one, it could have been more problematic. I suffered from nightmares and had to resort to sleeping pills for almost a month. Since then, I had experienced three more armed robberies. Guns make me shudder with fright.
The entire country has been stirred up by the brutal mass shooting aimed at kindergarten children occurring not long ago. Many people believe that guns should be controlled. On the other hand, firearms dealers are screaming with joy day after day. Perhaps it is because people are more excited when guns are against the norm. Guns and bullets are selling at the speed of bullets. Since many predict that stronger sanctions may make gun purchase more difficult, firearms business is booming compared to before.
There is a reason why I’m holding and shooting a gun that had once threatened to take my life away. It is to spur on conversation between my husband and my eldest son. After I remarried, I feel as if I’m making my adult sons uncomfortable. Thankfully, we are in very good terms, but I wish my warmhearted husband Joe and thoughtful son Andy would confide in each other as family.
Lately, the two men have found something in common. Guns. My husband had been in the United States Air Force, receiving a medal for marksmanship, and my eldest son began to show interest in guns. Since then, their relationship has changed dramatically. My son would drop by at our house, looking up guns online and talking about them with my husband. They even made plans to meet up and go to an arms dealer without me working as a mediator.
I was against my son buying a gun. My husband told my son the advantages and disadvantages of rifles and pistols and gave him ample advice. He told me not to oppose it for the sake of opposition. The problem is the person who uses the gun with evil purpose. A gun is simply a gun. It was made for shooting, and its purpose can only be fulfilled when it is used to shoot. It wasn’t made only for war or killing. Guns can be used as a means of self-defense to protect your life. Shooting at an outdoor range with an open view is a great sport to relieve stress. My husband worked hard to change my attitude towards guns.
Eavesdropping on their conversation made my fear of guns die down. My husband had kept his guns in a safe for the five years we have been married. I took it out and tried to touch it. It no longer made me shudder. After looking up some information on guns online, I asked the two men some questions and acted as if I knew more than they thought. “Forget about all the bad memories. Fire those memories away with a bullet,” I told myself. I comforted myself thinking this could be a hobby I could enjoy with the two men that I love.
Today I had shot a gun. I put down the empty gun on the table. Even though I was pushed to do so, I can’t believe it. My husband pulls my target up. I fired 13 rounds in total. None of the shots made it near the 10-point center. Only four bullets left holes here and there on the edges. My husband consoles me, saying that it wasn’t bad for my first try. His face is filled with a wide smile as he takes a photo of the target with his phone. I quickly clasp my shuddering right hand with my left hand. “This was just practice.” says my husband, telling me we should go to the outdoor shooting range with our son. He holds me tightly.
It takes much courage to get along with two man.
