The sadness that had been weighing on my chest evaporated. In its place, something cold and hard settled in. It was a feeling I hadn’t felt since my last tour in the mountains. It was the feeling of clarity. I walked out of the dining room and into the garage. Most suburban dads have a garage full of lawnmowers, rakes, and maybe a toolbox. I had those things, too.
But behind the pegboard where I hung my wrenches, there was a false wall. I pushed the hidden latch. The pegboard swung open. Inside was a heavy steel safe. I spun the dial. Left, right, left. Click. The door swung open. Inside wasn’t a collection of hunting rifles. It was my past. It was the things the military let me keep and the things I had acquired on my own.
I took out my plate carrier. No plates in it right now, but the pouches were ready. I took out a set of zip ties, the heavyduty kind used for flexing cuffs. I took out a KBAR knife, the blade black and non-reflective. I didn’t take a gun. Not yet. A gun is loud. A gun is quick. A gun is mercy.
