"Charlton Heston"

Stewart Lawrence Sinclair

Experimental Fiction

Workshop 01/24

Charlton Heston

Charlton Heston (no relation) was eight. The gun was small enough to fit in his back pocket. Just the sight of it provoked a tingle in his groin that he wouldn’t understand until he hit puberty four years later. Charlton stared at the gun. Dennis approached him.

“We’re gonna miss Spongebob,” Dennis said.

“Lookit.”

Dennis looked-it. His eyes popped wide as silver dollars when he saw the gun. He made to grab it but Charlton stopped him. 

“Don’t you remember what Eddie said?”

“Eddie?”

“Eddie the Eagle. The video we watched last week.”

That year the Missouri legislature had passed a bill requiring that all students partake in an NRA sponsored gun safety program which was to be non-biased towards guns and emphasize what a child should do if they came across one. Eddie the Eagle was the cartoon mascot, and throughout the video he rapped the procedure to kids: “Stop! Don’t Touch! Leave the area. Tell an Adult.”

Dennis and Charlton ran into the Alsup’s and told the man behind the counter, who didn’t seem particularly phased but nonetheless thanked the boys. They raced the rest of the way home and caught the second of the two after-school episodes of Spongebob.

.

Charleton was thinking about that day when he rode his bike home from school. At this point he was a Sophomore in high school. He was riding down Industrial Park Road alone and he was coming up on the railroad tracks. 

As he got closer the signal started flashing and the bell dinged. By the time he got to the track the train was railing by. He watched as car by car clickity-clacked along the iron tracks. It was a freighter, and the boxcars stretched on as long as they wanted to. And then the train slowed down, and finally came to a halt. 

Tired, thirsty, hot, hungry, Charlton looked around him for a place to wait until the train got a move on. There was a bar he was too young for on the right of the road. Next to that was a nail salon. He hated the smell of nail polish. But to his left was a place called The Shooter’s Lounge. And outside of it there was a Coke machine. 

Charlton pumped three quarters into the Coke Machine and pressed the Coke button, which sent a coke can rolling down a chute into a tray designed to keep people from reaching up into the thing and stealing the Cokes. He leaned on the coke machine. He put the cold can to his forehead, then he cracked open the Coke can.

The front door opened and Charlton heard the pyrotechnic pops of ammunition from inside. He turned to the door and saw a giant eagle step outside. The Eagle had on a pair of blue jeans and a T-shirt that said Shooter’s Lounge over the left-breast pocket, which had a pack of Camels in it. He grabbed the pack with a couple dactyl feathers and pecked out a cigarette. then he lit it with a Zippo.He took a long drag and then turned his head to Charlton.

“How’s it goin kid?”

“Just waiting on that train.”

The eagle shook his tail feathers, which stuck out the back of his pants. He kicked the Coke machine with his talon.

He said, “I reckon it’ll be there a minute.”

“I s’pose so.”

“Why don’t you come inside?”

Charlton drank the rest of his Coke. The train didn’t make any sound that might suggest movement. every once in a while it released a huge steam-sigh that could have come from the breaks. Charlton didn’t know a thing about trains. 

“Ain’t I seen you somewhere mister?”

“Dunno,” said Eddie. “Probly. Name’s Eddie. You might remember me from such films as the NRA’s Learn Gun Safety with Eddie Eagle.”

Charlton Heston just kind of stared at him.

“I’m a Simpson’s fan,” Eddie said.

.

“A lot’s changed since we’ve made that film, Charlie. It’s cool to call you that right? Cool. A lot’s changed, Charlie. I mean, as far as my career, animation’s all digital now. They don’t want a hand-drawn eagle like me. Plus, I’m getting older. The kids want someone close to their own age. I’m pushing thirty five now. you know what the cops would do with a thirty-five year old eagle showing up and rapping whenever a kid finds a gun? I promise you I’d have a lot more to worry about than my acting career. You know what I’m saying? No? Well I guess give it some time. The point is I might not be an NRA poster-boy any more but I still support the cause. This little place I have here is all about education. And I’m not just talking shooting lessons. I’m talking real fucking education. We teach people self-defense. We teach people the law. But most importantly we teach people their rights.”

Eddie stepped behind the glass counter. Charlton looked into it. There were three shelves of hand guns. They had labels like “.38 Special” and “.45 Magnum.” On the wall behind Eddie were shot guns, hunting rifles, assault rifles.

“This is our right, Charlie. After the founders promised freedom of speech they laid down in ink the right to bear one of these beautiful babies.”

Eddie reached under the counter and grabbed a gun labeled “.9 mm.” He put it on the counter and ushered Charlton to go ahead and grab it. Charlton looked at the gun, then at Eddie, then towards the door.

“This ain’t a damn after school special, kid.”

“I don’t think I should--”

“Take a look around Charlie.”

Charlton looked around. There were about a dozen people in the store. Some were looking up on a wall that had a selection of different paper targets. They had varying graphics ranging from zombie Bin Ladens to white men with fu-man-chus holding sexy women at gun point. The posters were all arranged above a thick glass window that separated the customers from the shooting gallery. Among the customers, two of them were policemen, several were middle-aged white men and there was one young girl there with her father.

Eddie continued, “I said in the video that if you find a gun you should tell an adult. This place is full of adults. Ask any one of them, they’ll tell you it’s okay. Hell, I’m an adult. I’m a grown-ass American Bald Eagle. What’s not to trust?”

Charlton raised his hand to the counter. He picked up the gun. It felt heavier than he expected.

“You want to go out back and try it out?”

.

Charlton had his ear plugs in snug. The safety-glasses were a little big but they didn’t seem like they’d fall off. He felt Eddie’s feathers against his hands as Eddie taught him to position the gun. The target they chose was a simple silhouette of a human being’s upper torso and head. 

“Take a deep breath, and relax. Exhale when you shoot. Don’t be afraid of the gun kicking back in your hand. you’ll feel it. It’s a powerful thing. You have to respect it. But don’t be afraid. With that gun in your hand, you have nothing else to be worry about.”

Charlton took a deep breath, and as he exhaled, he put incrementally greater pressure on the trigger until he felt the surprising percussive jolt up his arm, and the gun kicked back, and he felt proud of himself for keeping his eyes open and watching the bullet shoot straight through the center of the silhouette’s head. 

He fired again. 

and again.

and again.

and on the other side of the metal divide another shooter fired a more powerful gun again

and again into his target, which was a white assailant holding a female cop hostage.  This shooter’s mouth hung half open as he fired. His gun was a .38 special like the one in the display case. 

In the next booth over a little girl squealed as she fired her gun again and again. Charlton heard the girl squeal and it excited him and each time he fired he screamed. They squealed and they screamed and the guns went bang. And Charlton knew that he was safe. That nothing could touch him. He kept firing high velocity pock-marks into the black silhouette. The Silhouette morphed as he shot. It was a stranger breaking into his house. It was a deer wandering through the woods. It was some other kid fucking his girlfriend. It was Eddie the Eagle repeating his god damn stupid rap song. He kept rapping and dancing as Charlton put bullet after bullet into his brain. Stop! Don’t Touch! Leave the Area! Tell and Adult”

“Stop!”

“Get out of here!”

“Get the cops!”

“Somebody get a vet!”

Charlton stood over the body of Eddie Eagle. He kept pulling the trigger, but he had spent the ammo. Eddies cartoon body bled onto the floor, and the blood flowed around the hundreds of brass casings that littered the shooting gallery. Charlton held the gun in his hand. He felt the textured grip against his palm. He felt very powerful for a moment, but now he was out of ideas. Outside, the train blew its whistle and started to move.