Page 90 of Misguided
“What do y’all need it for?”
He may as well have asked, “Who you gonna shoot?” but I suppose employees are probably advised against that kind of straight up confrontation.
“Deer.”
The guy snorts and then proceeds to itemize the main difference between two rifles that are similar in price. I leave them to it, wandering to the next aisle over to check out the equipment on display. By the time Dog comes looking for me I have an armful of pink camouflage.
“Fuck me,” he groans, slapping a hand to his forehead. “Settle down.”
“Come on,” I tease. “Did you expect less?”
“I guess not.” He smiles for the first time since we left his father’s and it only spurs me on.
“You know what else I found?” I beckon him to follow and whip around the end of the aisle, back to the shelves beside the display cabinet.
The shop clerk waits on us at the counter with the rifle Dog picked laid out on top of a carry bag.
“This,” I exclaim, pointing to a smaller boxed rifle with a pink stock.
He chuckles, pulling me to his side with a lazy arm around his shoulders. “That’s a kids gun, babe.”
“Why? It’s pretty much the same size as those.” I point to some basic wooden-looking ones.
“You don’t shoot bullets with it, babe. It’s an air rifle.”
Fuck me dead. Why did I not realize that? “Well, shoot. Makes sense why it’s not locked up, then.” I laugh, ducking my head in shame when I see the clerk smiling at my mistake.
Hey, at least I made everyone laugh with my blonde moment.
“Fuck it. Why not.” Dog nabs the box, carrying it over to the clerk. “We’ll take all the shit she’s got too.”
“Will that be everything?”
“Yeah.”
I bump his elbow, catching his attention. “What about gear for you?”
“I’ve got camo pants at the clubhouse, plus a black T-shirt works fine too.”
“Great.” I scoff. “I’m going to be all trussed up like special-ops Barbie, and you’ll be getting around in your normal get up.”
He gives me that wink of his and smiles as he pulls out a credit card. “At least one of us will be visible to other hunters, huh?”
“I guess.”
The clerk rings it all up and we leave the mall toting our purchases back to the bike. Dog puts the ammo in his pannier bag, unboxes the air rifle and slips it in with his, and then slings the bag over my back. He ditches the packaging, tucking the plastic bag of clothes on my lap after I get settled behind him.
I feel like Rambo’s missus as we ride through the streets with the gun bag poking above my head. The whole time, I can’t wipe the silly grin from my face.
If he wanted to give me an escape, he’s done a pretty excellent job. Because right now I feel like a totally different woman.
All I can still hope is that this high never wears off. Because if this isn’t how life is going to be from here on out, then I don’t want to know about it.