May 30, 2017 – Trout Lake, Washington

Clink. Clink, clink.

I cheers Karen and Stuart as we sit out on their deck for “happy hour.” My first and last with them. Their generosity and kindness will be remembered, as over the last month and a half they have hosted a few dinners, movie nights, etc. After my last massage with Karen earlier today, we thought that since I leave tomorrow, we should have one last gathering. We talk and laugh over appetizers and drinks. I share with them more information about my lifestyle and my plan. They tell me theirs, which is to move to Arizona for their retirement. They’ve certainly earned it.

Jack and Will arrive after finishing up some work. Food and drink are served. Clink. Clink, clink. I try to absorb as much of this moment as I can. I will miss these people. Jack asks Stuart about whether or not he sold a gun in the estate sale, which brings an earlier conversation with Will to the forefront of my mind.

“Will,” I look at him and say, “we never got to go shooting.” I tell the others, “Will has never fired a gun.”

This statement is met with some surprise from the elders. Karen tells us about her little .22 pistol and how she hasn’t fired it. Seems like the perfect time to do so. She retrieves the gun and shows us, although she’s not entirely sure how it works. It’s a double-shot Derringer, also known as a palm pistol. I’m immediately reminded of Tombstone and those old westerns in which women would carry such a weapon in their purse, garter belts, what have you.

We set up a box in the back yard about fifteen feet away. Karen shoots first; she misses twice. We realize that this gun is meant for much closer contact. Will gives it a go. He aims much higher than you would think to be accurate. Shoots twice, misses once. I give the gun a whirl. Shoot twice, miss once. Cute little thing.

We decide to wrap things up and I say my goodbyes to Karen and Stuart. In the morning I will do so with Kya, Jack, Will, and hopefully Jane before heading towards Port Angeles for the summer. Not that I hope to say them.

I hate goodbyes.

“Saying goodbye is a little like dying.” – Marjane Satrapi