October 7, 2014--Midcoast: L.L. Bean's Gun Shop (Concluded)

In the gun shop, with Rona in tow, I moved moved more confidently than earlier toward the rack of 22s. "See, these are higher caliber," I said, feeling at least knowledgeable enough to point out the difference between them and the 30-30s. "But they're not for me. They're for real hunters. Not someone like me who's interested in target practice and small game. You know, your groundhog."

"To tell you the truth I'd rather trap and release him. After all--"

"I agree. I was just thinking about Ben and Willy needling me."

Standing by the rack of 22s was a salesmen with Nick on his name tag. "Can I help you with something?"

"Not really," I stammered. "We're just browsing. I mean I am. Rona's my wife. She just came along for the ride. You know, moral support." I couldn't stop myself from chattering on.

"My wife likes guns too," he said, looking very serious. "She carries."

"Carries?" I asked.

"A weapon. Concealed. We live out in the woods, deep in the woods, and there are all sorts of pretors back there. Both the four and two-legged kind." I thought I saw the beginnings of a smile. "She has a license of course. I don't want her not to be armed. She needs to protect herself."

"Well, we're, I mean I'm thinking about," I emphasized the thinking, "about maybe a 22 or something. I had a BB gun when I was a kid but don't know anything about weapons or guns or whatever." I was sounding silly to myself.

"We can take care of you," he said, gesturing at the long rack of 22s. "We have quite a collection here." He sounded proud, proprietary.

"These all used? I mean second-hand? Previously owned?" He nodded. "Why's that? I mean, don't most people want new guns?"

"Not anyone who knows about 'em. Unless you want to pay thousands. As they say, they're not makin' 'em like they used to."

"That's sadly true about a lot of things," I said.

"I'm not happy about that either, and a lot of other things," he said, shrugging. "But that's another story for another time because you're here to think about a 22." I was happy he picked up on the fact that I was thinking not shopping. "But I'm happy to help, to answer any questions you might have. Take as long as you like. My time is your time. The little lady too." For the first time, looking at Rona, he smiled.

"Well, so as not to waste your time, if I wanted to buy one--and I mean only if--could you sell one to me? I'm from New York and was wondering--"

"No problem at all," he said, sounding cheery. "We sell 'em to people from all over. Where you from in New York."

"Manhattan," I said.

"In New York City, right?"

"Yes," I said, trying also to sound cheery.

"Then I'm afraid we have a problem," he felt deflated. "We can't sell 'em to New York City residents. Or to folks from Washington, DC, and a few other places. Sorry about that," again he shrugged. "The law's the law. And I respect that no matter what I feel about it."  He began to cough and sneeze. "I have this darn cold," he said covering his nose and mouth. "Don't get too close. I think I'm past being infectious but want to be sure--"

"I appreciate that," Rona said. "Are you taking anything?"

"Naw. Nothing seems to help. Only time."

"We won't be keeping you then," I said. "As I mentioned, I was just thinking and now that I know I can't well--"

"But you can. You really can. It's in the Constitution. It's our right. All you need to do when you get back to the city," he sneezed again and Rona took a step backwards, "is get one of those forms you need to get approval for a firearm. Just follow the instructions and turn it in. They'll check you out and I'll sure in a week or two they'll say it's fine. As long as you never committed a felony or anything."

I shook my head, "Only a few parking tickets.

"And you're only wanting a 22. Not an Uzi for God's sake." He seems a little disgusted thinking about this, my rights and, I was sure, New York City and what that represented to him, living armed in the woods.

"You know, after I finished with the service--I was in for three tours--my wife and I lived in the city. For 18 months or so. I'll bet that surprises you." In fact it did but I didn't say anything.

"I was working for a private security company. We loved it there. Best year-and-a-half of my life." I was, to say the least, not expecting this. "We lived in Washington Heights and whenever we had any free time took the subway downtown and enjoyed the restaurants and movies. We even took in a few Broadway shows. But Sarah, that's my wife, got pregnant and we both felt Maine was a better place to raise kids. Her folks had some land they let us have. About 12 acres. We built a house and then moved up here. The rest, as they say, is history."

"I agree," Rona said, seemingly nonplussed, "Maine feels like a better place for children."

"But we try to get back to the city for a long weekend every year," he said. "Maybe the next time we're there I'll help you with that application."

With that he laughed and wheezed at the same time.

I whispered to Rona, "I can't wait to tell Willy and Ben about this."

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)