GIRLS WITH GUNS
On Sunday I slept late. After two months of fitful sleep, a strange calm descended upon me. I had been invited by a local women's NRA chapter to cover an event they were having out near the PA line later that afternoon. My column was still running in The River Reporter and i had developed a few fans. The organiser of the female gun enthusiasts had called me repeatedly and I felt obliged to make an effort to find the place. I called Friendly and got her voice mail. I didn't bother to leave a message. No sense in running the risk of Jeeves lurking in the shadows. Let her come to me. It's always about the hunt.
The weather was perfect, warm and clear. The leaves hadn't begun to change, yet the smells reminded one that bow season was right around the corner. The acorns continued to fall on the roof, but now it was just a gentle breeze shaking them loose. The squirrels were gone. The depression, that weighed so heavily just a few days ago, seemed to have vanished. How could this woman have such an effect on me? I turned the radio on and daydreamed, trying to make out the directions along the Delaware river.
Two hours later I still couldn't find the place. Every time I stopped to ask someone about the gathering they gave me conflicting directions. I was just about to give up when I spotted a hand painted plywood sign- NRA and a yellow arrow pointing down a dirt road. I pulled up to a big meeting house and two rough looking women, smoking cigarettes, eyed me warily. I introduced myself and they told me I'd missed the event. One had a big .357 wheel gun on her hip and the other a single barrel 12 ga. cradled in her arm. I made my apologies and got the hell out of there. "Men. Can't find their ass with both hands." I heard one say. I had bad experiences with armed women. The estrogen was palpable.
Back at the shack there was another message from Friendly. "Hi love. Can't wait to see you tomorrow." My spirits rose. Maybe my timing was perfect. Maybe she had finally resolved to split from Jeeves. Maybe everything was going to be OK. Maybe?
The weather was perfect, warm and clear. The leaves hadn't begun to change, yet the smells reminded one that bow season was right around the corner. The acorns continued to fall on the roof, but now it was just a gentle breeze shaking them loose. The squirrels were gone. The depression, that weighed so heavily just a few days ago, seemed to have vanished. How could this woman have such an effect on me? I turned the radio on and daydreamed, trying to make out the directions along the Delaware river.
Two hours later I still couldn't find the place. Every time I stopped to ask someone about the gathering they gave me conflicting directions. I was just about to give up when I spotted a hand painted plywood sign- NRA and a yellow arrow pointing down a dirt road. I pulled up to a big meeting house and two rough looking women, smoking cigarettes, eyed me warily. I introduced myself and they told me I'd missed the event. One had a big .357 wheel gun on her hip and the other a single barrel 12 ga. cradled in her arm. I made my apologies and got the hell out of there. "Men. Can't find their ass with both hands." I heard one say. I had bad experiences with armed women. The estrogen was palpable.
Back at the shack there was another message from Friendly. "Hi love. Can't wait to see you tomorrow." My spirits rose. Maybe my timing was perfect. Maybe she had finally resolved to split from Jeeves. Maybe everything was going to be OK. Maybe?
posted by mike osterhout at 9:34 AM
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