Bonding
by Matt Stoltz, 2004
I'd been staying at my uncle's cabin on Gull Lake Minnesota, he was going through a divorce, I was in love with the girl across the lake. Unfortunately for me, she had a boyfriend; he was mindless and boring. I conceded that he must have a huge penis. Unfortunately for my uncle, his wife of 38 years decided to leave him and bleed him for half his wealth. I conceded that he was fucked.
My uncle's spent a lot of time on the phone with his attorneys. Oddly, he preferred speakerphone.
"Are you in possession of any firearms," his attorney asked.
"Yeah, I got a .357 and a lot of single malt scotch," my uncle shot back.
"I advise you to get rid of it, the gun that is, at least until the divorce is finalized. These blood sucking dike attorneys would go to great lengths to use that against you."
I dreamt that night of an encounter with my infatuation across the lake. Gliding over the water, we met standing above the surface. Middle of the lake, arm in arm, all that jazz; big blue moon, aurora borealis, juicy stars and all, Oh! She touched my face, a hand of ice, finished me off with a kiss. Opening my eyes a ghastly image appeared before me, her skin shed, all that was left was bone and a thick mat of long black hair, which began to envelope my entire body. Unable to move, I plunged to the bottom of the lake. Betrayed! I woke up, went over to the toilet, and violently threw up my insides.
"Good morning Matthew," my uncle said reading the front page of the Star Tribune.
"Oh… mornin'," I replied
My uncle and I, sitting there, slurping down the ritual morning coffee, are tortured by our human counterpart. Sipping away at the world, I thought about how long it might take for a reckless binge of hard drugs to offset a case of prolonged sexual abstinence. I looked over at the .357 lying carelessly on the kitchen counter, wrapped up in a tattered old blue cloth, and could not help but wonder about my uncle's dreams.
"How did you sleep?"
He glanced at the gun, twice, and said, "Great."
Would you believe me if I told you that a .357 is how two men bond? We were dancing with two left feet. The only thing that mattered was the mutual feelings that existed between us and that gun. If I opened up your heart and probed thousands of blistering hot needles into it, you might want that gun too.
