Seeing the Light

What happens when you take an admittedly gun-phobic writer from the Boston Globe and drop him off at a gun range in North Enid, Oklahoma?

Answer here.

In summation, before...

If Quier had wanted to hear more of my flat acccent, I would have told him that I do not like guns, or, more specifically, the culture that uses guns for pleasure and personal protection. I would have said that I came to his shooting range to understand Enid, yes, but also to face something, or someone, I do not agree with.

...and after.

Quier handed me the Ruger semiautomatic. He told me to draw a deep breath, exhale a bit, then stop. He told me to aim the holographic crosshairs in the scope at the center of the silhouette of a person on the target.

I squeezed the trigger hesitantly. After 10 shots, Quier took the gun, removed the clip and reloaded it.

I liked Quier, and I wanted him to like me. I wanted him to think I was a good shooter.

I fired the next rounds more quickly.

I could feel the world as Quier does, as a place to be protected and fought over.

I removed the clip. The next time, I loaded the clip. The next, I dropped the chamber into place and, in rapid succession while holding a single breath, fired 10 rounds.

Soon, I would walk from the concrete bunker into soft twilight and the prairie that runs, seemingly, without end. I would hear the cicadas sounding in the sweet air and remember that while a black-and-white view may make sense, may even be necessary when dug inside the bunker, it does not work, for me, in the green, gray world beyond.

But standing next to Quier in that echoing firing range, I wanted him to think I was capable, and worthy, of survival in his world.

He took the gun and placed a smooth succession of shots through the center of the silhouetted head. Then it was my turn again. I quickly emptied one clip into the target. I loaded a final clip and fired again.

Quier retrieved the target. My shots had blown a large hole in the right side of the silhouetted head. A bit off the mark, but consistent. I turned to Quier and smiled.

"Well," I said, "he's blind in one eye, anyway."

Quier smiled, as though talking to a friend:

"There you go."

RTWT.