Don’t Call Me Stupid

“Karen almost shot a man before. She told me that in the moment she could have pulled the trigger and felt nothing.”

“She is such a weird lady.”

“Not really. Let me finish the story. One day, after Karen had just got married, she was out checking on the cows, and a truck pulled up. It was a matte color grey like the paint had all been sanded off and it was left with just a base coat. You know what I’m talking about. The truck had a white stripe up the center of the hood. It’s something you would have recognized a mile off. There weren’t doors on it, either.”

“Yeah, I can see it.”

“Well, inside the truck were two fat white men with big bellies and no shirts. They had big white beards and a mess of sweaty white chest hair and they pulled over and watched Karen while she was cleaning out the water trough. ‘I want myself a fuck,’ one man said to the other, ‘ and I’m going to get it.’”

“That’s gross.”

“I know. Karen was scared, so she pretended she didn’t hear them and kept up with her chores. She went back to the house and waited for her husband to get home. He worked at a bank and was gone all day. It was her responsibility to take care of the animals, but these men had really scared her.”

“I bet.”

“The next day, she went out to check the cows and the men were out there, again. They sat a good distance away and just watched her. They didn’t say anything, just stared. When she went up to the house, after she was done, she called the police. ‘Are they there right now?,’ inquired the sheriff. ‘No, they drove off when I walked up the house,’ Karen replied. ‘Well, little Missy,’ retorted the sheriff, ‘we don’t respond to fears when there ain’t an actual threat. You call me back next time when you are in danger and we will be sure to do something about it.’”

“No cellphones in the 1960’s.”

“Exactly. The next morning, Karen got her husband’s shotgun out and loaded it. She was scared and she had a strong feeling the men would be back. She left the gun by the gate and went out to the cows. The men were there and she ignored them. This time, however, when she headed back to the house, they jumped out of their truck and followed her. One man-- the one that had said he was going to take himself a fuck-- was headed straight for her. She grabbed the shotgun, cocked it and pointed it at him.”

“Good!”

“She told me that all her fear went away and it was replaced by a calm sense of control. ‘I’m going to kill you, mother fucker,’ she yelled. The man’s face went white. He obviously believed her. He took up running and hid in the bushes.”

“That’s funny.”

“She worried about the other man and she thought if she pursued the first he’d be able to take the gun away from her, so she just kept circling the house with her back to it and the gun nestled between her chin and shoulder, ready to fire. The men ran out towards the truck and Karen followed them, still holding on to the shotgun, to watch them go. She started walking down the road, holding the gun by her side. A man in a sports car pulled over and, with his head hanging out the window, he called out. ‘Hey, little girl, what are you doing walking down the side of the road with a gun.’ ‘I’m not a little girl and I’m going to shoot myself a rapist,’ she hollered back. ‘That car left rubber on the road. I scared the crap out of him,’ Karen told me, ‘at that point, I was mad with rage. I had hoped to be able to shoot one of those men’s genitals off. Leave him unable to fuck again.’” 

“What did her husband do? Did she tell him?” 

“Yeah, she had told him before, but he just told her to be careful. After that, he didn’t do anything. The men never came back.”

“That was mean.”

“Mean? That seems like the wrong word.”

“Akh, you always criticize what I say.”

“No, I don’t. I just think that cowardly might be how you’d describe his behavior-- but not mean.”

“Well, if he was her husband and he cared about her, he should have acted like a man and did something about it.”

“You are being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m not. I think he hated her. I think he wanted her to get raped by those men.”

“Why would he hate a woman he had just married? I think it’s more likely he didn’t know what to do.” 

“Whatever, you think you know everything, and you can think what you want, but I think he wanted her to get raped and he hated her.”

“Never mind.”

I kept silent for a long while after that. I stared out the window and watched the fence posts pass by. The hills were golden and the individual stalks of dead grass danced around in the afternoon breeze. Their heads fluttered about, smacking against each other. She kept trying to start a conversation and I kept shutting it down. She seemed annoyed every time. She’d start out with a fake sort of cheer, desperate in a way, but it would break down when my response was short. I wondered how I could ever get healthy when this is what I lived with. Maybe, I was fucked. Maybe, I’d just stop talking to her. Maybe, I’d always be angry. Maybe, this was the trial that God gave me in order to work on myself and become a better, more patient, person. No, it would just be easier to stop talking to her. These thoughts poured in and left me feeling resentful. When I have enough money saved up, I’ll move out. I'll leave her and all her crap about not being man enough. Until then, just keep your head down and don’t disagree with her. You know how sensitive she is. She is not going to change. Just make it one day at a time. All you have to do is get through today. Don’t think about tomorrow. We kept on driving; her at the wheel and me looking out the window, watching the fence posts pass by.