as he spits into a walkie-talkie. âThatâs Harlon Carter. A great man. When he was sixteen he shot a man to death in self-defense. Heâs a true Second Amendment warrior. Heâs our hero, heâs going to lead the revolution. At least he better or Iâm getting my money back.
Lee does not know what that means either, but he likes his father explaining things to him and he is looking forward to seeing a war.
âHeâs coordinating right now. Itâs going to be a sneak attack. Iâm the guy behind Harlon, Iâm the money, the strategist. The sycophants have no idea what me and Harlon are about to pull. They want to keep it a benign little squirrel-shooting club and stay out of politics and cooperate. They want to move the NRA from Washington, DC, to fucking Colorado and let them just go ahead and trample our rights. So me and Harlon are gonna take it. Weâre gonna take the NRA. And save the country. Tonight. Come on, Iâll introduce you.
His father brings Lee up to the bald man, Harlon Carter, who is talking to someone else. They stand there for a moment, waiting for Harlon Carter to finish, but before Harlon can turn to them his father says, âKnow what? Letâs not hog all his attention. Iâll introduce you later. Come on.
âWhy are you sweating, Dad?
âIâm not sweating.
âYes, you are.
âI donât know why. I gave a lot of money, is all. I funded the whole damned thing. I bought those fucking walkie-talkies. And he waves me off. He waves me off.
âHe didnât wave you off.
âDonât tell me he didnât wave me off. He waved me off. Come on.
They wander around looking at the display tables. Lee collects stickers and pins and pamphlets and books. He is drawn to the table with the gunsâarmy guns and cop guns and big guns and little guns and so many guns. Everyone has a handgun on their hip or a rifle slung across their back. The General is there, the soldiers from the house. Lee stands there as his father shakes their hands, pretends to pass on sensitive information obtained from being an insider with Harlon Carter.
âHow is Carter, Lieutenant? the General says.
âHarlonâs good, General, Leeâs father says. âHeâs feeling strong, heâs feeling good. Weâre in prime position and everythingâs on schedule, Harlon tells me weâre in great shape, outstanding shape.
The General and the soldiers nod, glowing from the proximity to power.
âWhatâs he like? the General says. âGood guy?
âGreat guy, Leeâs father says. âGreat guy.
The convention consists mostly of people talking and clapping and sitting and eating, with their guns. For some speakers his father leans over and whispers to Lee, âThis guyâs a hero, and he claps hard, even whistles, and Lee does the same, clapping hard and whistling for the hero. For other speakers his father says, âThis guyâs a sack of shit, and he and Lee boo. Most of the conventioneers are somber men with white hair and clothes that Lee imagines being found in an attic of an abandoned farmhouse. The few women resemble the men. It is boring. Lee wants to go in the pool. He saw some boys his age in there earlier; he wants to meet them, play with them. He asks his father if he may. âLater, his father says, âI want you to experience this, this is important.
At midnight they are still there, in their folding chairs in that conference room, cheering for heroes and booing sacks of shit. God, how he would love to go running on the deck of the pool and take off from the edge and fly in the air above the blue water, pulling his knees to his chest, and splash. How he would love to race those boys from end to end. He is trying to keep his eyes open. âWake up, his father says, nudging him, âyouâre missing it.
Lee looks at what he is missing and he is missing more speeches and they are the
Lee does not know what that means either, but he likes his father explaining things to him and he is looking forward to seeing a war.
âHeâs coordinating right now. Itâs going to be a sneak attack. Iâm the guy behind Harlon, Iâm the money, the strategist. The sycophants have no idea what me and Harlon are about to pull. They want to keep it a benign little squirrel-shooting club and stay out of politics and cooperate. They want to move the NRA from Washington, DC, to fucking Colorado and let them just go ahead and trample our rights. So me and Harlon are gonna take it. Weâre gonna take the NRA. And save the country. Tonight. Come on, Iâll introduce you.
His father brings Lee up to the bald man, Harlon Carter, who is talking to someone else. They stand there for a moment, waiting for Harlon Carter to finish, but before Harlon can turn to them his father says, âKnow what? Letâs not hog all his attention. Iâll introduce you later. Come on.
âWhy are you sweating, Dad?
âIâm not sweating.
âYes, you are.
âI donât know why. I gave a lot of money, is all. I funded the whole damned thing. I bought those fucking walkie-talkies. And he waves me off. He waves me off.
âHe didnât wave you off.
âDonât tell me he didnât wave me off. He waved me off. Come on.
They wander around looking at the display tables. Lee collects stickers and pins and pamphlets and books. He is drawn to the table with the gunsâarmy guns and cop guns and big guns and little guns and so many guns. Everyone has a handgun on their hip or a rifle slung across their back. The General is there, the soldiers from the house. Lee stands there as his father shakes their hands, pretends to pass on sensitive information obtained from being an insider with Harlon Carter.
âHow is Carter, Lieutenant? the General says.
âHarlonâs good, General, Leeâs father says. âHeâs feeling strong, heâs feeling good. Weâre in prime position and everythingâs on schedule, Harlon tells me weâre in great shape, outstanding shape.
The General and the soldiers nod, glowing from the proximity to power.
âWhatâs he like? the General says. âGood guy?
âGreat guy, Leeâs father says. âGreat guy.
The convention consists mostly of people talking and clapping and sitting and eating, with their guns. For some speakers his father leans over and whispers to Lee, âThis guyâs a hero, and he claps hard, even whistles, and Lee does the same, clapping hard and whistling for the hero. For other speakers his father says, âThis guyâs a sack of shit, and he and Lee boo. Most of the conventioneers are somber men with white hair and clothes that Lee imagines being found in an attic of an abandoned farmhouse. The few women resemble the men. It is boring. Lee wants to go in the pool. He saw some boys his age in there earlier; he wants to meet them, play with them. He asks his father if he may. âLater, his father says, âI want you to experience this, this is important.
At midnight they are still there, in their folding chairs in that conference room, cheering for heroes and booing sacks of shit. God, how he would love to go running on the deck of the pool and take off from the edge and fly in the air above the blue water, pulling his knees to his chest, and splash. How he would love to race those boys from end to end. He is trying to keep his eyes open. âWake up, his father says, nudging him, âyouâre missing it.
Lee looks at what he is missing and he is missing more speeches and they are the
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