The gun on her lap called on her to rectify this situation, to live up to her responsibility as a parent. There was too much killing in the news these days, she thought. So many innocents dying in the line of fire and the parents of the killers defending their behavior by placing the blame on society or the school system, or the government or just anyone and everything other than themselves. She was not going to be one of those parents. She had never been a statistic and she wasn’t going to start now.
Her mom’s constant message that Jeff, Jr. was her responsibility and hers alone wasn’t going to go away, especially now. If it was her son who had had anything to do with that shooting, then that made it her responsibility no matter what.
“Didn’t I give you, all that I’ve got to give, baby?” How true Sade, how true, she thought sadly.
She touched the gun and began to pray for strength. She wasn’t even sure if the thing was loaded. But she was sure that in a moment a few days ago, there had been three shots fired from this gun, at least three that she knew of according to what the police reported. Knowing only what she learned from the few cop shows she had seen, there should be at least three more bullets left. Maybe, she prayed, in the moments following her son’s return, she could show her commitment to being a responsible parent. She would show the mother’s of those other boys, the one who died and the other two who were in the hospital still struggling to live, that she was going to do her duty.
His key in the door drew her attention. From the sound of it, he was struggling to find the key hole. She was sure he was drunk. Oh well. She put her hand on the gun, raising it slowly. Her hand tremors barely perceptible as the gun showed no signs of wavering. The gun is heavy in her hands and she wonders where children learn to shoot these things.
The door swings open slowly.
She prays, “God help me do the right thing.”
Sade sings on, “This is no ordinary love, no ordinary love.”
Ain’t that the truth?