SMALL PEBBLES LIKE RAINDROPS
After thirty years, I’d forgotten that I’d once owned a gun. It looked comical to me now. I remembered it as an alien-crusher, metallic and cold in the face of slimy invaders. Something so useful that I couldn’t live without it. And now, it was nothing more than a Super Soaker, brittle plastic, abandoned, bound for the trash—another way to kill something else.
My sister, Blair, laughed as I held it up. “I’ll never forget when you and Dave Tidmore
