October 6, 2014--Midcoast: L.L. Bean's Gun Shop (Part 1)

Willy asked, "Have you given any more thought to getting yourself a weapon?"

Exasperated because we had been down this path before, I said, "I'm not thinking weapon but a 22 rifle or gun, if you prefer." He looked at me skeptically.

"In fact, we're going to Freeport on Wednesday, to L.L Bean. Rona wants to look for new gardening clogs and I could use a couple of belts. And, I thought, while there--"

"All the way there for belts? What kind of belts are these? Must be something verrrry special." He was making fun of me again as he has an occasional inclination to do.

But I was happy to not be talking about guns. "Well, I bought a belt on line--this one--I like the braided ones. And it was made in England. Plus, they're on sale." I slid out of my seat to show him. "Nice, no?"

"To me a belt's a belt." In fact, he wears suspenders. "And while there? That's what you said, didn't you--'while there'? What's that about?" He was smily slyly.

"I thought I'd look at their rifles," I lowered my eyes, "22s. For targets and--"

"And get after Rona's famous groundhog."

"Also there's a deer munching on her phlox so--"

"So you're thinking of shooting the deer with a 22?" He guffawed. "They wouldn't even feel it. If you want to--"

"I don't want to kill it. Just make it unpleasant so he'll think twice about coming back."

"Make it unpleasant," he was mocking me, "This I'd have to see."

Ben winked at Willy.

*  *  *

It was gray and drizzly Wednesday morning and so we headed first to Brunswick for a guilty-pleasure tray of Frosty's donuts and then on to Freeport.

After downing half a dozen we drove the remaining ten miles to L.L. Bean and happened to park right by the entrance closest to the gun shop. Truly, it was the only open parking space.

"Tomorrow's your birthday," once inside Rona said, holding me by my arms so she could get close and look directly in my eyes, "So take all the time you want," I knew what she was referring to, "I'll be up in the shoe department and when I'm done I'll sit and wait for you. Even if it takes you an hour or more. We're not in any hurry." She kissed me and disappeared between the racks where camouflaged outfits were displayed.

Alone, I wondered if I should get something camouflaged too. A cap at least. Maybe with a 22 of my own I might want to do some walking in the woods and so, to be less visible, I should . . .

But I checked myself and decided first-things-first and drifted obliquely toward the gun displays so as not to make it seem I was doing so intentionally. I was pretending to myself that it would be by accident that I found myself among the shotguns and other firearms.

I was surprised to see that most all the guns were displayed on open racks, barrel end up, and that customers were comfortable, on their own, without the assistance of salesmen, rooting among them and occasionally removing one from the rack and hoisting it to their shoulders, sighting and aiming at imaginary targets in the shop--a stuffed deer head, the L.L. Bean sign, a rack of ammunition. Careful, though, not to point the guns toward customers even though they were secured by what appeared to be locks on the triggers.

The rifles were arranged by size, by caliber--22s, 30-30s, 30-40s, shotguns. I made my way quickly from the larger caliber ones to the rack of 22s. They looked like real guns, not souped-up BB guns, and I felt confident I would be able to handle them. Not just in the gun shop but out by our house and perhaps even in the woods.

I looked at the price tags on a few but was nervous about the thought of picking one up much less trying out how it felt tucked in against my right shoulder. Would it seem alien? Even unexpectantly comfortable? But I did think they were expensive. At least $300 with some approaching $1,000, and that they all appeared in prefect shape but used. Looking around I didn't see any new ones behind the service counter. I'll have to find out about this. Just from curiosity of course, because I was quickly coming to feel that even something as minimalist as a 22 wasn't for me. I'm not really a gun person, I said to myself. Not even a 22-person.

With this realization, seemingly out of nowhere, I was swept with a wave of palpitations strong enough for me to fear I might be about to pass out. To steady myself I held onto the checkout counter, wedged between stacks of ammo. This whole gun business, I thought, is too much for me. Belts and gardening clogs are what I can handle.

I reluctantly admitted I was not man enough for this. That I was too old to even have gun-owner fantasies. I needed to get out of there, look at the belts or, better, seek Rona's comfort in the women's shoe department.

"You look terrible," she said, sounding alarmed when she spotted me weaving unsteadily toward her. She was walking about testing a pair of clogs. "Are you OK? Did something happen?"

"I'm fine," I lied. My heart was still racing. "Keep shopping. I'll sit right here," I collapsed in a chair, "Those look nice." I wanted to avoid talking about what had happened and how I was feeling.

She moved quickly to sit by me and put her arms around my shoulders. "I can tell that something happened in the gun shop that you don't want to talk about."

"After more than 30 years together I can't get away with anything," I said and took a deep breath to stifle my surging emotions.

"Tell me, love."

"I don't know what happened. I wanted to look around and even checked out a few guns. 22s. But began to feel faint when I thought about taking one from the rack."

"You can just do that? On your own? Pick up a gun?"

"I was surprised too," I panted, "Even kids were doing that. They seemed so comfortable. I, on the other hand--" I couldn't complete my thought.

"That's OK. I know this is a complicated thing for you and--"

"I had no idea how complicated. The worst of it," I confessed, "is feeling I'm getting too old and . . ."

"I know it's almost your birthday but--"

"But, that's how I feel. And not being comfortable with even a puny 22, well that didn't make me feel too good either, or intrepid. In fact, the opposite." I was nearly in tears.

Rona pulled me to her, gently stroking my back. "Did anyone offer to help?"

"Not really," I said, now composed. "There were salesmen there but they didn't seem interested in helping me or anyone for that matter."

"I suppose since most of the people who shop there are familiar with guns and--"

"The other customers sure felt like that. I guess I was feeling embarrassed that I didn't know the difference between a bolt-action rifle and a--"

"I'm impressed that you know about bolt-action, whatever that is," Rona smiled and kissed me on the cheek, trying to restore my pride.

"To tell you the truth I'm not sure what that is. What it means."

"But I am concerned about this feeling-old business." Rona was attempting to calm me, to make what had happened seem normal. Nothing all that much to worry about.

"I'm really disappointed in myself," I said. "You know, in spite of what Willy and Ben think I'm really only thinking about it. Buying one. I'm not a gun person but--"

"But still you'd like to be able to handle yourself better, for example, in the gun shop."

"Exactly! What's the big deal? I mean--"

"Well, it is a big deal if you're experiencing it that way.

"If you're willing to come with me--if that isn't too babyish a thing to ask--I'd like to try again. Maybe I could handle it better and--"

"Even though I'd be with you, you'd feel better about yourself?"

"Something like that." I smiled. My heart rate was pretty  much back to normal.

(End of Part 1)