Part 1: College Submission
Alice stepped onto the dock in the backyard where her daughter sat, feet dangling into the creek.
“Maddie, help me with dinner, please.”
“But I need supplies for my presentation board.”
Alice inhaled tightly. “It’s almost curfew, Madison. Why didn’t you remind me earlier?”
“It’s just stuff from Target. I can go myself.”
“No. Write down what you need. I’ll go right now.”
“Seriously, mom, it’s okay. I’m 18. I can sign.”
Alice was firm. “Inside now, please, and make a shopping list.”
Madison rolled her eyes, but obeyed. Arguing was futile.
Alice grabbed Madison’s list in one hand, purse in the other. No use getting frustrated. College applications were treacherous; the private schools made it nearly impossible. If Madison’s project didn’t astonish the enrollment board at Elmwood, her acceptance could be revoked and she’d end up at State.
State was a good school, but it didn’t have the budget for security. Outside the ivies (which no longer accepted applications from non-legacy candidates), Elmwood had the strongest security detail in the country and 24/7 lockdown. There hadn’t been a single incident on campus in the past year.
Madison needed an A on this project, and Alice was prepared to do anything to help her. She wasn’t going to lose another one.
Three years ago was her son Marcus’ senior year. One month from graduation and ready for NYU, his life ended with an AR-15 bullet. He was one of 32. They were in the gym for a pep rally. Marcus was sitting next to Madison; he pushed her down and blocked her. Madison was a freshman at the time.
Shooters often exercised their right while using social media simultaneously, to “enhance the experience”, as the President once clumsily said. By the time he began his second term, mass shootings happened daily. He fully supported the second amendment.
People without kids still did, too. They didn’t know; it hadn’t happened to them. “#thoughtsandprayers” flooded the internet, but nobody dared enter a church anymore.
Madison was the one to start the movement. She proposed that teachers and parents carry an AR-15 at all times. Alice unsuccessfully tried to dissuade her. At the school’s memorial assembly, Madison gave a speech so convincing it made the national news. A month later, online orders for AR-15s broke records.
Now every adult carried one, everywhere.
Alice parked, jumped out of the car, opened the back door, and reached for her AR. But the backseat was empty.
“Motherf-“ she cut herself off when she saw a woman walking nearby. She noticed her Coach rifle sling (quilted crimson leather with platinum rivets); it must have cost her a fortune. Alice’s sling was a simple one which Madison had adorned with buttons. “Flair”, Alice called it, reminiscent of an era when traffic and paper jams were the worst American nightmares.
She remembered that Joe cleaned her rifle that afternoon. He must have forgotten to put it back in the car when he was done, but it was too late to go home for it. She approached the two armed guards at the entrance.
“Sign in,” ordered the guard at the reception table.
“Please, I’ll only be a minute.”
The other guard stepped in her path. “You know the drill. Unarmed consent.”
Alice skimmed the five pages and signed all spaces. Consent to proceed into Target without protection and hold merchant harmless for bodily damage from any event. Standard procedure.
Corporations stopped taking chances after the Safeway massacre two years ago. Three unarmed customers survived it, but their lawsuits bankrupted the company.
Alice wished she had gone to Rite Aid tonight instead. It was farther, but there was only one guard. He was always too busy arresting all the minors buying cigarettes to notice her.
She paid for Madison’s supplies and ran back to the car. She heard gunfire in the distance. Joe was probably worried sick.
Alice pulled into the garage, closed and locked the lift door. Joe was waiting inside, pacing, with her AR over his shoulder.
“Why would you leave without this?” Joe said, nearly crying. “Two today,” he added. “Only ten kids though.”
He poured Alice a glass of wine. “Freedom is finite.”
She checked the deadbolts and windows, and said goodnight to Madison. Her evening ritual. Houses went dark as everyone hunkered down for curfew. The sidewalks were empty; a gunshot echoed outside.
Alice clinked glasses wth Joe and sunk into her recliner.
