Ssome kids get a sweet sixteen party. A few get a car. Cheryl Halia Haddad got a gun. A mass murderer was running loose in Chicago, so her mother used that as an excuse. “Your father left us. Our neighborhood isn’t safe anymore. We can’t sell the house because interest rates are ridiculous. You need to learn how to defend yourself.”
Tired of her mother always taking every opportunity to throw in your father left us, like he was her father but not her mother’s husband, Cheryl shot back, “I don’t have a father, so you get me a gun. Makes sense to me.”
“Don’t get smart with me.” Her mother handed her the gun. “It’s not loaded.”
Cheryl’s sarcasm was quickly forgotten as she held the gun in her hand. She lifted it and held it in front of her with both hands, like she’d seen in the movies. Closing one eye, she mimicked the sound of the gun firing. She was in awe of the strength it embodied, the maturity she felt, even if empty of bullets. Her mother wrested it from her grip.
“It stays with me until we train you in gun safety.”
“That’s the first time a gift has been immediately taken away.”
“And for good reason! It is not a toy, Cheryl. Remember that.”
The night before her first training session, her best friend, Maya, who already had her driver’s license, dropped Cheryl off at her home. They’d spent Friday evening hanging out in the park down by the river, and as they approached the house, they could see a bluish glow in the front window. Getting inside, Cheryl was stunned to see her mom had bought a brand new television set, a 14-inch Sony Trinitron.
“How do you like it?” her mom said.
“I love it! But I thought we couldn’t afford a color TV.”
“Never mind about that. Your uncles carried the old one up to your room, so now you’ve got your very own television.”
First she got her very own gun and now she had her very own TV? What was up with her mom all of a sudden? Whatever it was, it was a welcome change.
At school the next day, she told some friends about the new television and several ooohed and aaahed. “Those are top of the line.” “Very expensive.” “Fancy!” Cheryl wondered how her mom could suddenly afford one on a policewoman’s salary. They’d lived less than modestly, able to afford necessities, but not luxuries until very recently. And they’d lost the modest income her dad brought home from driving the cab. Had her mom gotten a promotion?
One Friday night after Maya gave her a ride home, Cheryl was surprised to find her mother still awake. Two empty beer bottles stood like sentinels on the low table in front of her corduroy recliner.
“Hey, Mom, what are you watching this late?
“It’s this Clint Eastwood movie, Magnum Force, the second Dirty Harry flick. We watched it, remember?” Her mother loved all the tough cop movies.
“Doesn’t all this stuff remind you of work?”
“Are you kidding? This is nothing like my job. Do you see any cops giving traffic tickets, or making house calls for domestic disturbances?”
Cheryl sat down on the couch, not to watch the movie, but to make her mom feel like she wasn’t hiding anything from her after a night out with friends.
“Remember, we’ve got target practice tomorrow. Bright and early.”
“I remember.” Cheryl hated getting up early on Sunday when she could be sleeping in, even though training was only twice a month. She hated running around outside when it was cold so early in the morning. But she loved being one of the only girls on the premises. Very few women ever showed up for target practice. She was pretty sure none of her friends owned a firearm. She loved living the secret of possessing a gun. She just hated the training.
Cheryl stayed on the couch for what she thought was the requisite amount of time, and then stood. “Okay, well, I’m going to bed. Good night.” She leaned over to give her a hug.
“Don’t be such a shit. Watch the movie with me.”
“It’s no fun watching the second half of a movie.” She made her way to the stairs.
“Come on, the good part’s starting, when the young rogue officers plot the overthrow of the city! I was a young buck once. And boy, can I identify with Callahan’s new partner … the woman? Hard to believe they are only now making a movie with a female officer. How come no one called me?”
Now she was talking to herself.
“Night, Mother,” Cheryl called from the top of the stairs.
The night was too warm to put on her father’s sweater, the one she wore whenever she could get away with it, whenever her mother didn’t yell at her to go upstairs and take the damned thing off or she’d put it in the trash. But she did pull it out of her drawer and hold it to her face, inhaling the scents which only seemed to get stronger each day of his absence.