My sister chose to use her bullet years ago and ever since she has badgered me to liberate my own from its chamber. Beth leveled her pistol at her husband five years into their marriage, and she has no regrets, which is one of the things I admire about her. I was the first person she called after the smoke cleared. By the time I arrived, she was watching TV, waiting for the Ministry of Mortality to come and retrieve the body. “It’s on the balcony,” she said helpfully. I didn’t need to look, so I joined her in the living room and changed the channel as if it were any other visit. “People are right,” she continued. “It was the best decision I could have made. There is no point in waiting for old age and then, what, take my bullet into the grave?” She said this last part accusingly.
But I don’t have any one person in my life who stands between me and happiness, like some traffic cop with their arm raised. I’m not married. I love my job. Have great friends. However, I am threatening to hit thirty years old, so I am also aware of the danger of turning into one of our aunts and uncles, who gather around their generous pours of red, white, and beer, pining over the fact that they’ve never taken their allotted kill, and that it’s too late for them.
“If I had only taken out Professor Willoughby, then I would have graduated with a better mark and found a better law firm to intern with.” Uncle Archie. “If I had killed Coach Clemons, then I would have been showcased properly for the scholarships to the good schools.” Aunt Jerry. These are the toothless observations of things long passed. If is a word for the weak and the broken-hearted.
Beth executed an all-too-common kill; spouse on spouse. Paolo wasn’t cheating on her. He didn’t drink or smoke weed. He didn’t golf or gamble or even watch sports. He gave the rest of us nothing to talk about. And that was his greatest sin, at least in Beth’s mind. I suspect that he may still be standing if he had suffered from a few interesting vices. As she went on to explain, she had no choice.
“Tuesday is my worst day of the week,
