Chapter 1: The End

When she left me, I was utterly stunned. There was no warning. At least there was no indication that I saw, and nothing bad happening that I was aware of. Literally, I was left with no thoughts, no movement, intense and abject depression, and absolutely no will to go on. My world, at that point, I was sure, had ended. It happened the day before my forty-third birthday. If it had to happen, thank God that was when she chose to cave my world in and turn my entire life inside out and upside down.

I didn’t handle it well. I tried to contact Kim to ask her why. To ask what had happened. What had I done that was so egregious that she had to just up and abandon our relationship, our lives, our future? We’d been together for three years and engaged for almost one of those. Our wedding date had been set for a scant three months from that day. April was her month, May was mine, and August was supposed to have been ours.

She wouldn’t return my calls, texts, or emails. I had a drink or two between each attempt, and finally, around midnight, I gave up. A bit in the wind, at least three sheets, I sat down in my favorite recliner, a gift from her, phone in hand, and cried myself to sleep.

Ronnie called the next morning, as he had for the last fifteen years since we were stationed together. He never missed my birthday. I missed his, just six days later, seventy-five percent of the time. He was truly, and I’ll be the first to say it, a better friend than I would ever be. At least a more thoughtful friend. But thankfully he was that better friend I needed on that specific birthday.

The phone hurt my head. It hurt my ears. I think it hurt my hair. I answered, went through some niceties, then when he told me I sounded a bit down, I spilled my guts.

“Jesus Christ, Charlie! What did she catch you doing?” Hopefully he was trying to make me smile and break me out of my funk. I was pretty sure he knew me better than to think I would have sabotaged my own relationship, anyway.

“Not a thing, asshole. I didn’t even see it coming. I still don’t know what exactly happened. She didn’t say much except ‘Goodbye’ and that she’d send for her things. Please don’t tell me you think I would have done something to cause her to leave. You know me better than that.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I do know you better than that. You put up with a lot, I know that. If Debbie treated me the way I heard Kim treating you, I would have been the one to leave, and we’re married. You have any vacation time coming?”

“All I want. The plant closed and all the equipment is headed to Chicago. You know how I feel about that place.”

“Come visit. Just drop everything and get your ass out here. I’ll break open a jug of Dickel and we’ll talk.”

“Give me a few days. I’m going to put all my stuff in storage and notify the landlord. She can clear the place out and...” I lost it a bit, and Ronnie picked up on it.

“I know, buddy. It’s tough being in that situation. All of a sudden alone. Been there, done that. So have you, though. We’ve both talked about it. There’s another Kim out there, Charlie. A better one. One that won’t leave you hanging. Maybe even one that won’t leave you. You’ll see. Keep in mind you’re not alone, too. You aren’t. We’ll always be here. You can count on that. Get your stuff together and come see us. I’ll make you some of my ribs.”

“I’ll take you up on your offer, old friend. I just need to make sure my stuff is safe, and I’ll be there. Thanks, Ronnie. Tell Debbie I said ‘Hi’. I’ll see y’all in a few days.”

We closed and I called a moving company and my favorite gun shop. The movers would be there the next morning and the gun shop was waiting for me to bring my collection to them for safe storage. I had way too much wrapped up in my guns to let someone come in and take them, or the safe they were in. Being in an apartment, on the second floor, no less, I couldn’t anchor the behemoth to the floor beneath it. Oh, well, I’d take a couple of my favorite carry pistols with me and leave the rest with Jack. None of them were antiques or anything, they just meant a lot to me. Copies of, or weapons similar to, those that I’d used in my prior life and I just loved the way they felt in my hands.

I walked in, Jack greeting me in his usual fashion. “S’up, Colonel?”

“Jack, I’d tell you, but I’d hate for you to get caught crying in front of me. Marines don’t do that, normally, but if I told you about my day yesterday, you surely would.”

“Please tell me she didn’t...”

“She did, Corporal. She did. Gone. No explanation. I’m bailing and need you to look after my babies.”

“Bring ‘em in, Charlie. You know better than to even think you need to ask.”

I went out and got them out of the back of the truck, and laid three cases on the counter. My .25-06 hunting rifle, my AR-15, which was just a street legal M4 GAU wannabe, a Centennial Edition Winchester ‘94 Ranger, a Model 27 with Combat Masterpiece grips, then the ancient worthless old M-1, a seven millimeter Mauser whose only claim to fame was that it shot straight, every damned time, the little Marlin .22 semi auto, and a few pistols and revolvers I used for carry and practice in various and sundry calibers. All in all, there were fifteen of them.

As I removed each of them from the carrying satchels and cases, checked to make sure they were unloaded and was handing them to him, I explained the situation. I knew I’d be back. I just didn’t know when. “Jack, can you have them cleaned up good and prepped for storage? My life is just about unknown right now.”

“I’ll take care of them, Charlie. Don’t doubt that. We actually have a new oil just for that purpose and we can use you for a guinea pig.” He started laughing. “It’s good stuff, we just never had any before.”

“Thanks. Can you hand me a box of those Federal 45s right there, and some of the 165 grain 40s? Same kind.” He handed them to me. “Thanks. Here’s three hundred. That should cover the ammo and six months storage or so. And some of that new oil you’re so proud of.”

“After all the business you’ve given us, you know I wouldn’t charge you for keeping them.”

“I figured as much but take it. If anyone asks ... Anyone but our uncle ... You don’t have them. One of those, the Smith CT wheel gun, she thought was hers. I’d rather she didn’t have it. I bought it, if you remember correctly.”

“I do, Charlie, and I haven’t seen it since. That’s my story and I’m gonna stick with it. You be careful out there. Can I ask where you’re headed?”

“North Carolina first, then Houston, Tucson, San Diego, Sunnyvale, Eugene or Portland, depending, then Spokane, Rapid City, and ... Hell, I don’t know. I’ll be back, though.” He took my hand and pulled me over the counter, a pile of firearms underneath us, into a hug. “If I asked you to keep my truck, Jack, what would you say?”

“That pile of shit? What the hell would I even do with it?” He started laughing and nodded.

“Asshole. Here’s a key. Go over to this address and take it home on Sunday. I’ll be long gone. Drive it once in a while. Registration and insurance cards are in the console. I WILL be back, so don’t sell it.” I handed him the key fob for my 2018 F-150 Lariat, then we shook again, and I walked out. Piece of shit, indeed. He drove an 80s Chevy Silverado with camouflage seat covers and the always present rusted out cab corners and wheel wells. ‘Some day, Jack. Some day!’ I thought to myself, laughing on the way back out to the truck.

I met Jack there when I retired from the Air Force and came home. He’d opened the gun shop, and I was looking for a good heavy duty carry pistol. He worked me through a bunch of them, but one of the Kimber Ultras, a CDP II, made the cut. It felt really good, and even better with the Hogue wrap around rubber grips. It was my go-to piece for out of town travels. In town, I usually just wore my little Taurus .22 magnum wheel gun, or my little LCP. It just depended on what season it was, and what I was wearing at the time. Of course, the LCP was set up for Zombie hunting with the little green laser mounted on the side of it. Everyone had to have a firearm capable of taking out Zombies. It was just common sense!

The movers made it painless for me. They packed all the belongings I wouldn’t need for my trip, including the gun safe, beds and sofa, in a big plastic crate right there on the truck, sealed it, and left me standing there in awe. My entire life, with the exception of a few pistols, t-shirts, sox, boxers, a pair of jeans, a little shaving kit, and a jacket, fit in a big box and was on the way down the street. Oh, and one dress shirt, neatly rolled up so it would look decent if I needed it at Ronnie’s. They liked to go out for dinner quite a bit, so I needed to be prepared.

Ronnie and Debbie lived in western North Carolina. Hill country, yes, but very civilized, and a really pretty area of the country. It would be considered by most to be a suburb of, if not actually in, the Smoky Mountains. Just a really nice place to visit. They think it’s a really nice place to live. They didn’t have kids of their own, but any kid I ever saw around there was smiling. It must be a really nice place to grow up.

I headed off to the motel just outside of town and checked with the apartment cleaners to make sure they’d be there tomorrow. I wanted the place spotless and able to present it to the landlord that way. I let him know that was the plan.

He said he’d call Kim and tell her what was transpiring and warn her that her name was on the rental as a roommate, so she needed to make sure it was in the same condition when she was done clearing her things out. He said he’d give me back my security deposit after the cleaners were done, telling me he could take it out on her, legally, if she screwed the pooch. There was a paragraph in the amended lease contract about this very situation.

He was a lot better guy than I gave him credit for in what few meetings we’d had. Good tenants rarely meet the landlord. It’s the ... Never mind ... That’s just one of life’s obvious truths.

Another fitful night of mostly sleeplessness after a big burger, an order of broccoli, and too many margaritas at the Applebee’s across the street from the motel, had me waking in a funk, yet again. I hoped Ronnie was right. My life, my attitude, my outlook all need to get better. They can’t get much worse.