to voice over artist Tim George
the part of Hank Peabody
Tim George's website to learn more
about his work
Tonight I Loaded the Gun
from The Reeducation of a Turd Peddler
by John Henry Peabody
TONIGHT I LOADED the gun. The revolver, the Bisley Vacquero, the six
shooter, the lame little reconstitution of a cowboy pistol I loved to
hold and take out to the range. I loaded it and put it next to the bed.
I wasnt really sure why. It was only a .22. It wouldnt
stop a dog if the dog really wanted you. Sure, the animal would eventually
bleed out but who had the time to wait around for that while it gnawed
away at your carotid.
Was it that I had become that paranoid? I had no idea where
things were going. Did I think that someone was coming through the front
door in the middle of the night? Was I going to shoot them? Half naked
as I might be in a t-shirt and nothing else, firing away?
To sleep naked was unprepared. To sleep in full defensive
regalia was ridiculous. But thats how it starts. You want to believe
that your morals are grander than your enemys. While you are lounging
around, taking the dog for a walk and assuming anyone would want to
do the same, someone is intent on killing you. So you build a fortress
to defy them. You make up laws, outlaw box cutters, toss the bottled
water. You do things you had no idea you were going to do.
You prepare. You load the gun.
A loaded gun is heavier than an unloaded gun, and not because
of the weight of the bullets. Loaded guns have magnetic charges in themits
as if they attract trouble because theyre loaded. An empty gun
is inert. A loaded gun becomes a gyroscope with something unseen whipping
around inside of it.
I fell off to sleep quickly. When I awoke in the morning,
I looked over at the night stand and saw the revolver sitting on the
top of the holster. It was heavy. The sound of the neighbors radio
drifted through the curtains. I heard the wild parrots fly over the
house. I took the gun and opened the action, ejecting each of the bullets.
I closed the action, put the gun down and held the little cartridges
in my hand. They were like wasps, the .22s were, little bullets that
wanted to be bigger. I shook them around in the palm of my hand where
they clacked like river stones. Then I dumped them on the bed stand.
The gun was lighter. The room was lighter.
I guess I didnt have to shoot anyone. Or put any underwear
on either. Small victory.
See a potential source of Hank's paranoia
"Gerry Pulls a Gun on Me"