Ethan would have known if Kevin let him win, so Kevin didn’t.
On the drive home, Ethan offered future dates and contests, his was a new found love that beat brightly around him.
"When will I be able to beat you at the putting game, Uncle Kevin?”
"Beat me? You believe it’s already time for that?”
"Well, I don’t know. I think with a little practice I can come close.”
"Try a lot of practice, smart guy.”
Ethan whispered something along the lines of a lot of practice, his smile was non-faltering.
"You need anything while we’re on the drive home?”
"I don’t think so.”
"Uncle Kevin?”
"Yes?”
"If I work my hardest at this, really try, could I be as good as you someday?”
"Yes, even better.”
"You think so?”
"I do.”
Kevin studied him; Ethan’s face lit up thinking of it.
"You really like it, don’t you?”
"I do, but there’s something else I’ve been thinking about.”
"Yeah, what’s that?”
"What my dad said about you, how you were better at golf than he’d ever been at anything. I want to be that good, do you think he would know? I mean if I got that good?”
The question took Kevin away completely for a second. It wasn’t unreasonable. It was a little boy’s way of coping. He wanted to make his father proud of him, even in death. Kevin masked the shimmering pool forming in his lower eye lids by pretending to adjust the side view mirror. It hadn’t been that long but damn, would there ever be a time the kid couldn’t humble Kevin like this, reduce him to this weakened state.
"Yes, Ethan, I believe he would know.”
"I thought so too, thanks.”
The remainder of the drive was left in silence, both of them visiting memories unknown to the other.
As with most of Kevin’s life, days and months passed in a swirl of guilt, pondering, and acceptance. He had known for some time he was unlike the rest of society. He had believed his life, as miserable as it was, would be over long before now. It was remarkable to him, standing there on the front porch of his grandfather’s home that he was permitted to breathe the same air as the rest of those around him. How about karma? Was his mental anguish and psychological trauma all the lightning that would befall him? Surely something had to be coming for him.
Light
“Friday”
Kevin was standing there with his laboring thoughts when the silver Ford Taurus pulled into view. Besides Peter, he hadn’t had a visitor at his grandfather’s house, ever. He watched as a young woman in a business suit removed herself gracefully from the driver’s seat. She was authoritive and pleasant all at the same time. Kevin held his spot as she looked around, possibly not seeing him standing on the porch. When her eyes found him, she startled, letting a short giggle escape her before quickly regaining composure.
"Wow, hi. I didn’t see you there.”
Her face was open, friendly, still Kevin wasn’t sure what she wanted or represented.
"What can I do for you?” Kevin said the words a bit too cold. How many times in the line of duty had he approached strangers with questions and commands; he tried a smile to ease the grip of his earlier harshness.
"I’m special agent Collins with the FBI, I was –”
She was pulling something from her bag as she spoke; the time it was taking her to retrieve it seemed to embarrass her, “There we go damn things as big as a dictionary. I was hoping to ask you a few questions?”
Agent Collins presented her credentials; Kevin took half a glance at the black billfold; there was a serious looking picture of Agent Collins, along with a myriad of words declaring her a special agent.
“Am I under some sort of investigation?” Kevin worked hard to keep his face free of tension.
“No, no, not at all, I’m assigned to the Firearms Training Unit, and we are compiling data for a special report made available only to those in law enforcement.”
"I see, how can I assist you?”
She was stuffing her creds back into her bag as she spoke. “I’ll get right to it Mr. Anderson.”
"Kevin.”
"Kevin, thanks. We at the FBI have put together a report to help other agencies with ballistics and training, by talking with snipers from the United States who have been obligated to use deadly force in the course of their duties.”
Kevin hadn’t heard it put that way before, he thought to himself.
"Everything that happened during that call out should be documented,” Kevin stated.
She smiled, a measure of unease creeping into her face.
"It was, and I read it, as I do with all cases such as this. It’s just, the reports are fact based and concise, as they should be, but there’s never any mention, or detailing of the intangibles.”
Kevin stepped off of the porch and walked over to Agent Collins. As he got closer, he understood why she was the one sent to ask uncomfortable questions of a male dominated trade. She was pretty; moreover, she was gifted with the air of vulnerability. Kevin was positive the snipers she had questioned prior to this visit had invited her in, poured her drinks, and waxed on about the art and philosophy of their skill, the cunning it took to outwit and neutralize the bad guy.
"Intangibles?” Kevin said with half a grin.
"I won’t take very much of your time. I promise, just a few questions and I’m out of here.”
“The person you got my address from, did he tell you I’m no longer employed as a peace officer?”
“Yes, he did.”
"Did he say why?”
"No Mr. Anders—Kevin, he didn’t.”
Kevin watched her face searching for any trace of deception. She was either being completely honest, or had been given formal classes in drama, along with federal law.
"There really isn’t much to say, Agent Collins. It was—”
"Allison”
"I’m sorry?”
"My name is, Allison. Please. Agent Collins is just for introductions.”
"Okay, Allison, I’m not sure what to tell you that you haven’t already read in the report.”
Kevin noted that everything she said following his last comment came from memory. She didn’t open a notebook, or flip through a copy of the report, just spoke from the homework she’d obviously done.
"The shot you took that night was from seventy-two yards. You had been in place for approximately four hours with the only relief coming from your spotter. Kevin, can you remember how much sleep you’d had prior to the call out, and possibly what your mindset or state of awareness was at the time the incident unfolded?”
She didn’t have any device to write down or record his answer. She just stood quietly waiting for his response.
“That’s a good question. I really can’t recall how much sleep I’d had, two, possibly three hours before the page came. As far as mindset, I’m afraid my answer won’t be very original.”
“Please.”
“Soft focus.”
"Soft focus?” she said curiously. “Can you elaborate, and yes that was an original response, not one I’d ever heard anyway.”
Kevin relived the incident as he formed his answer: “Too much time in the glass, the scope, sorry, fixated on one spot and your mind starts playing tricks. Eye fatigue sets in quicker; your neck and back start to spasm. Tension in any form during those moments can ruin the outcome of what you’ve been sent there to do. I always tried to maintain overall focus by keeping both eyes open and taking in a larger picture of my surroundings. My mind, well, it took a backseat to the training, focus without focus, mind no mind.”
Kevin felt ridiculous at this point carrying on like some 16th century Samurai pontificating on the blessed art of snipering through spiritual meditation. He knew he was sounding like a jackass and cut himself off. He didn’t know what it was about this stranger that made him feel l
ike saying so much, too much.
"I could have used you during firearms training at Quantico. My efforts, at least in the beginning, were more mind than anything else.” Agent Collins laughed at her own remark, looked to the ground then back to him. She was blushing now, and the hue that found her cheeks suited her. She was prettier than Kevin had originally noted, she was actually quite beautiful.
"I’m sorry, uh—yes, just before or just after taking the shot; do you have any recollection of what you were thinking, anything specific?”
Kevin almost laughed at that one. “Yeah, I was thinking the bad guy was going to kill one of my teammates if I didn’t stop him.”
Somewhere between Kevin’s original desire to laugh and his final answer, the reality of that moment found his mind and subsequently his expression altered.
He felt the weight of it, the toll it took, and takes forever thereafter. He was twisted inside and it was obvious his face revealed as much.
For an uncomfortable moment, Agent Collins stared at him, unblinking, without a word. When she spoke, her face expressed her desire to bolt. He didn’t know how often Agent Collins was in the company of monsters, perhaps it had just hit her. Kevin felt even worse at causing her discomfort.
"I’m sorry, Kevin, it wasn’t my intention to bring up bad memories. You’ve been a great help.”
Her apologizing for his ineptitude as a human being did nothing to ease his regret of wearing his past deeds so close to the skin. He wanted to say something light hearted, something easy, but nothing came. Kevin stood there and nodded as an eight-year- old boy might after a spanking. For some stupid reason he couldn’t help but think of holding her right then. Okay, perhaps not holding her, but allowing her to hold him. It dawned on him then the only woman who had ever felt anything for him, had ever told him she loved him was his mother. The thought, however brief, brought even more misery. Jesus, he had to move, turn, run, walk, something.
"Look, I’m not very good at this . . .”
As he spoke, Agent Collins listened, while Allison the bystander felt too many things to decide right then which was right. She had spoken with many men in the past year regarding their use of deadly force. Most of them had killed their intended targets, and most were happy to tell their tales. She was sure many had thought it might get them laid in the end.
Then there was this man, physically perfect, his frame immense without a trace of awkwardness, his hair and eyes the same shade of dark brown.
He looked like someone who could make your worst fears go away. His body, though now quite still, seemed alive and effortlessly propelled.
She noticed when he moved from the porch to stand by her his eyes never left hers; he was graceful and fluid, as if he’d grown up amongst things far more agile than human beings.
Despite the peripheral beauty, and the aura of fearlessness, Allison saw, or rather felt what could not be clothed over, or easily concealed. Kevin had shared with her the experience of taking another human being’s life.
He did so because she had asked him to. He wasn’t boastful or in any way proud of what he had done, and now he was apologizing for making her feel uncomfortable about the exchange. Allison felt like an idiot, ashamed at making him feel anymore guilt than he’d already experienced. A part of her wanted to pull him close, wanted to touch his face, look into those tortured eyes and whisper it would be okay. The other part, the sensible one, knew it was time to leave.
". . . if you’d like to come back another time, perhaps I could have something prepared, maybe we could eat something.” Kevin then laughed internally at his comment. He hadn’t really ever spent any time in the company of women.
Allison responded quickly, “Okay, again, I just, well, I have asked these questions a few times now, and sometimes you just forget how personal it really is. I’m sorry.”
"It’s me, Allison; I don’t get out much, the great internalizer, I should study up on talking to people.”
"I’m here through Sunday, maybe we could have dinner.” The words had left her in a manner he had just described, talk about your soft focus, how about no focus, she just blurted it out and there it was hanging between them.
"Really? That would be great.”
"I mean, if you’re not busy, I don’t want to---“
"No, dinner would be great, there’s just someone else—”
"Oh god, I’m sorry. I should have known you’d be married.”
"No, that’s not it.”
“Well a girlfriend then, of course, I’ll just—”
“I have a little boy, no wife, no girlfriend.”
"Oh, a little boy, how old?”
"He’s ten, his name is Ethan, he’s the son of my
best friend.”
Before she could make any further, comments Kevin added: “Ethan’s father died not too long ago, I look after him now.”
"Wow, that’s really nice.” What else do you say to something like that Allison thought?
"He’s a great kid. My suggestion was going to be that you come back tomorrow around six and I would fix us dinner. I’ve cooked for myself quite a few years; I’m really not too bad at that.”
Allison noted the fact he looked down when offering himself any form of praise. There was a very big picture here and she was already fascinated by the few snapshots she had glimpsed. She wanted to come back, wanted to stay now in fact and just listen to him talk in that shy, slightly uncomfortable way. Most of the men she had known were very good at throwing a layer of concealer over their true feelings; Kevin seemed almost incapable of that.
"I would be delighted then, can I bring anything?”
“We have everything here, do you mind steak?”
“I’m from the heartland originally, steak would be fine.”
He started to reach out to her then; to shake hands, touch her shoulder, something, then stopped himself,
“Tomorrow, then,” was the best he could do.
Kevin stood there for a long time after Allison drove away.
He understood little about what had transpired here. It was nothing, right? He would prepare dinner as he did most nights for himself and Ethan, except there would be one more. People did this all the time. What would he talk about? She would ask, that’s what people did over meals, they talked, and they asked questions of one another. Christ. What was he thinking? “So anyway Allison, I graduated high school, joined the Marines, killed folks for the better part of ten years, all on the down low, very, very, down low if you catch my drift, then I became a cop, killed a few more people. Oh yea, and Ethan’s dad, the best friend I told you about, well he came to me one day with a proposition. So to help him out, I killed him too. More wine?
Kevin was perspiring while standing rooted to the small parcel of ground he’d inhabited; he would have called her to cancel had he been smart enough to have gotten her number. That’s it, he thought, she’s probably having the same self-talk about what a foolish idea it had been to accept his invitation. She would call later and say something had come up, or better yet, just not show at all. He was worrying needlessly.
It was getting late; Kevin grabbed his keys and drove into town to pick up Ethan. While driving home, Kevin explained about the visitor he’d had. He mentioned the possibility she might join them for dinner the following night. Ethan made little of it and merely said, “Okay,” before the conversation turned to other topics.
Kevin sighed with relief when no questions regarding the stranger came. Instead, Ethan was quite content asking questions about his new passion.
Kevin fell asleep that night as he did frequently these days. In his recliner, lights on, book in hand.
Ethan kept a semi-regular sleep schedule, usually in bed by nine o’clock, out like a lamb by nine-fifteen. Kevin envied the boy.
He didn’t know what time he’d lapsed into that state between being and not. It wasn’t real sleep; he knew that; his body, his head, rebuked him most mornings with the dull aches and difficulties of so
meone much older than himself. On this particular night he dreamed of Peter. It wasn’t so much of Peter, as Peter was there talking to him, telling him he should make every effort to be nice to the woman. He didn’t call her by her name, just “the woman”. Peter was sitting in a booth by himself and Kevin walked in. Without being told to, or invited, Kevin sat across from his dead friend and started talking.
Peter smiled, then pulled the hood from his black sweatshirt up around his head and donned a pair of black sunglasses. Kevin made a joke about the “Unabomber” ensemble and they both laughed. It was out of place for the context of the dream, but dreams were like that. Peter removed the garb and spoke quietly about love and what he believed Kevin and Ethan both needed.
Peter began: “Don’t get me wrong, pal, you’re doing a great job with him, as good as I ever did and the golf, Jesus he’s really great, huh? That said, he, and you, well neither of you, has ever known a woman’s love. It’s incredible, you know. It’s necessary.
Save him Kevin, one more time for me, and for yourself. Be nice to the woman, just be nice.”
With that the dream changed sequence. Peter was up and out of the booth. Kevin was left sitting there with the other patrons staring at him, unspeaking.
And then he awoke.
It was still early; morning light was clearly an hour away at least. Kevin strode the worn hardwood path to his room and fell into bed. No more dreams remained.
“Saturday”
Kevin woke before Ethan; made him breakfast then asked if he’d like to go to the grocery store with him. Ethan declined, insisting he’d rather chip and putt around the yard if Kevin didn’t mind. Kevin smiled at the boy and was off. If Allison did show up, he should be prepared. Kevin wasn’t clear this morning. Something about seeing Peter in his dreams, watching him speak in that manner he always used when he believed something truly important, warmed and depressed him all at the same time.
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