Page 111 of Death of the Author

“Sure,” she said. “My clerk doesn’t get here until nine a.m., and there’s only one person who comes in on a weekday at this time. He’ll be here soon.”

“And you don’t... worry?”

Mona paused and looked at Zelu. “Why would I? Anyone stupid enough to fuck with a gun shop and range is only goin’ get shot.”

Zelu laughed. “True.”

They went into Mona’s office, beside the front desk. It was warm and spacious, her large desk on the far side of the carpeted room and ten chairs in front of a dry-erase board on the other side. There was a framed poster laying out the “Primary Rules of Gun Safety” on the wall and a glass case displaying several firearms of various sizes.

On the table was a black gun with the slide back, an unloaded magazine, and orange fake bullets. “This is the one you’ll be shooting,” Mona said.

Zelu looked down at it and shivered. Mona smirked knowingly. And so the lesson began. For an hour and a half, she showed Zelu the parts of the pistol, taught her lessons in safety, and then taught them to her again. She taught Zelu how to hold the gun, how to load the pistol using the fake bullets, and the proper stance. “But all this is academic,” she said. “Let’s go put it into action.”

They left the room and went to the front of the store, where Monahanded Zelu a pair of shooting earmuffs. When Zelu put them on, the veil of silence was familiar. She felt a little less connected to where she was, which she welcomed because damn, she was scared.

As she followed Mona through the security doors, onto the chilly gun range, Zelu started having second thoughts. Her mother would be appalled by what she was doing. Her whole family would be. Msizi would be disgusted. What if her gun exploded when she fired it? What if her eardrums exploded despite the earmuffs? What if the entirerangeexploded? There were bulletproof partitions separating the shooting booths. All of them were empty except the one at the end. A black man of average height and above-average girth with a shiny bald head, wearing a pricey-looking suit, stood fiddling with a large black assault rifle. He didn’t look their way.

“Hey, Odell,” Mona said.

Odell grunted a hello, not fully looking at them.

Zelu and Mona stepped into the booth right beside the door, and Zelu was relieved. They were as far from Odell as possible. Mona had to speak loudly for Zelu to hear her through the earmuffs. “That’s Odell. He comes here before work, bright and early at eight a.m. every weekday. Even with this snow. Fires off twenty rounds with his tactical rifle and then leaves. Guess it relaxes him. He’s one of Chicago’s top lawyers.”

Zelu snorted a laugh. She understood now. But she still didn’t like the guy. She focused on the gun Mona set on the counter as she went through the routine of loading the weapon one more time. Zelu nodded. “Okay, I think I’ve got it.”

Mona nodded, too, and stepped back. “All right, have at it.”

Zelu aimed and slowly began to bring her finger to the trigger. She took a breath.

BLAM! Not from her gun. From lanes away. Even with her earmuffs on, the sound was massive. Still holding the gun up and facing forward, she leaned against the booth partition just in time, or she’d have fallen. She held herself, trying to catch her breath as the flashback washed over her.

She looked around.

At the bushes.

It was dark and warm.

Shouts.

She started running.

She fought the urge to run. She let the images flood over her. Her therapist had instructed her to ride out the flashbacks, notice them, but then let them go along their way. That’s what PTSD flashbacks wanted to do. Go along their way.Let them leave me behind to go onmyway, she thought, her eyes closed.

BLAM!The lawyer’s rifle went off again.

“You all right?” Mona’s hand was on her shoulder. She gently took the gun from Zelu’s hands.

BLAM!!!

The green of the bush on that night in Imo State.

What town, she didn’t know.

Zelu groaned, using her hands to press her earmuffs as tightly to her head as she could. “I’m...”

BLAM!!!

“Relax. The bullets are going that way,” Mona said, pointing toward the targets. “I’m sorry. That’s not the greatest first time hearing a gun fired.”

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