The Anarchist's Heart

“Hey, you, come here before you go,”

It was hard not to flash Gemma a look of disbelief—likely the twentieth one I’d shot her tonight—when yet again she requested my company. Jax and I had just been about to head out the door for home after family supper. I blinked and turned back to an equally bewildered Jax, telling him to wait for me outside. He shrugged and walked out and I trundled off to Gemma’s side, hyperaware of my every move.

She pulled me by the hand to the hallway closet, which she opened without explanation and reached up for a hat box. I opened my mouth to ask if she wanted help when it appeared she was struggling, but before I could speak she was bringing the box down from the shelf. She set the box down on a little corner table and opened the lid. Old newspapers littered the inside, obviously protecting whatever was in there.

“I know you’re new to this, but I also know you’ve used one of these before. And I know that I’m not about to let you run around without protection after what happened, that’s for damn sure. So…” She folded the newspapers back and revealed a collection of handguns. While I was hardly surprised, my eyes darted back to the closet shelf where two more hat boxes were perched. Nonchalantly, she handed me a small, silver handgun. “Try this one.”

I shook my head, not taking the gun. “Gemma, I can’t walk around with a gun…”

“You’re dating a man who carries more than just a gun around everyday. What’s your excuse?” She thrust the gun at me again.

“I-I’m a schoolteacher, I can’t just…”

She put it in my hand. “Don’t be stupid with it and no one will ever know. Get Jax to take you out for target practice. Grease your rusty trigger finger and let it do the talking for you next time, got it?”

I sighed and ran my finger over the scratched-off serial number. “Yeah, alright.”

She gave me a warmer smile than usual and sent me on my way. Embarrassed, I tucked the gun into my purse and hurried out of the house. Jax was leaning on his handlebars, the engine of his motorcycle rumbling. When he saw me he sat up and his eyes followed me as I walked over to him.

“What’d she want?” he asked, gesturing towards the house.

I groaned and, as secretively as possible, showed him the gun in my purse. “She forced me to take this, ‘for protection.’”

He snorted. “Sounds about right. Not a bad piece, though.”

“Jax! I don’t want a gun. She wouldn’t let me say no.”

“Of course not, after what happened,” he muttered. “C’mon, let’s go.”

I huffed but got on the back of his bike and put my helmet on. The sun was beginning to set, casting an orange-pink glow onto the landscape. I was enjoying its beauty so much I almost didn’t notice Jax take a wrong turn, leading us out of town.

“Where are we going?” I yelled over the roar of the Harley.

“Just enjoy the ride! You’ll see!” Jax yelled back.

I knew Jax wasn’t just taking me for a joy ride; there was something he was scheming and I could tell. But I trusted him enough to not let it bother me and I just did as he said and enjoyed the ride. The wind threw my stray hairs back behind me and left warm, sharp kisses on my cheeks and nose. I wrapped my arms tighter around Jax’s torso and he increased the speed, making us both laugh at the sensation. There was no one else on the road; we had it to ourselves. We were headed towards the sunset and it felt like we were chasing it. I felt like I was sixteen again, taking one of John Teller’s motorcycles out for a joyride. Sometimes we’d drive until it ran out of gas and someone would have to come get us with the tow truck. They’d find us out on some unmarked road, sharing a cigarette and laughing, trying to finger-comb the knots out of our hair. The memory made my heart feel light.

Jax pulled off on a dirt road and cut the engine. Still giggling, I removed my helmet.

“Where are we?” I asked, looking around at the grassy hills and sparse trees.

Jax put down the kickstand and got off the bike. “Target practice,” he answered.

“Wha—no…” I stammered. Had he really just tricked me like that?

“Oh, yes,” he chuckled. He walked off to a distant log laying horizontal on the ground. He dug around behind it for a minute before producing three glass bottles and setting them up on top of the log. Then he returned to me.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mumbled, staring at the bottles half in contempt and half in disbelief.

“No jokes here, darlin’,” He smirked. “Grab your piece; let’s see how rusty you are.”

“Or I can just tell you the answer: very,” I’d only shot a gun a handful of times in my life and the last time I did it was probably sixteen years ago. So needless to say I was not feeling very confident.

“You won’t know until you try,” Jax said, digging in my purse for the handgun. “C’mon, give it a shot.”

“Pun intended?” I quipped. He gave me a smile and put the gun in my hand. “I really don’t want to do this.”

“Just shoot until you hit something and we’ll call it good,” Jax said. He stood back and put his hands in his pockets. “Go ahead.”

I took a deep breath in. Clearly, I wasn’t getting out of it. It felt like it took ten minutes for me to work enough courage up just to get in the right position. But eventually I strengthened my stance, straightened my arms in front of me, took the safety off and cocked it. It was another five minutes before I could actually pull the trigger and when I finally did I was about fifteen feet off from the target. I dropped my arms to my side with a huff and glared at Jax, who was clearly trying to hold back laughter.

“Not bad, not bad,” he choked.

“Don’t lie; it was awful just like I said it would be.” I grumbled.

“No, you’re just not holding it right,” he said. He stood behind me, separating my legs a bit with his knee and putting his hands on my arms to lift them up. “Right…there. Okay, now don’t hold the gun in a death grip; it’ll affect your aim again. You should be able to look right across the top of it, just like that…now hold it right there and squeeze the trigger.”

I took another breath, squinted a lot, and squeezed. I managed to clip the very top of one of the bottles and cracked it. I screamed and jumped up and down like I’d just won a game of Monopoly (which never happens for me, by the way).

“Yes! You said I only had to go until I hit something and I did! In your face!” I realized at that point that I was waving a gun around wildly and I stopped right away, sheepishly clearing my throat and putting the gun back in my purse.

“Alright, alright,” Jax laughed. “I guess that is what I said. At least let me finish them off for you.”

I stood back while Jax obliterated the rest of the bottles with ease. When he was done he blew the barrel of his gun and gave me the cheesiest wink I’d ever seen.

“Oh, now you’re just showing off,” I mumbled.

“Don’t be a sour grape,” Jax smiled. “Maybe you need something to take the edge off, you know? You’ve been under a lot of stress lately; you just need to chill out.”

“And how do you propose I do that?” I asked warily.

He held up a finger to tell me “one second” and walked over to his bike. He dug around his saddlebag for a minute; I couldn’t see what he was looking for. Finally he turned around with a shit-eating grin on his face and a joint between his fingers. I rolled my eyes and shook my head.

“Oh, no,” I said, “no, no, no. Those days are behind me. I’m a teacher now, I can’t do that stuff anymore.”

“Oh, c’mon. It’s not like they drug test you, right?” He held it to his lips and lit it, taking a heavy puff off of it.

“Well no, but…I’m responsible for those kids and I don’t want them to think—”

“Ella. Get a grip,” Jax scoffed. “They’re not gonna know and besides, I’ll bet you ten bucks half the teachers in that school get high off their asses everyday; how else would they deal with those little shits? The fucking principal got stoned when we were going to school, remember? And he didn’t even try to hide it.”

I sighed. “Jax…”

“Live a little, baby,” He held it out to me.

One look into those eyes of his and my willpower disintegrated. “Oh, fuck it.” I took it from his hands and hauled on it gently. It’d been years since I’d smoked pot and my throat burned in protest but I choked back my coughs. I blew out the smoke and cleared my throat. “Mm, the taste hasn’t gotten any better.”

He laughed and took the joint from me, sitting down on his motorcycle. He patted the backseat and I took it.

“I mean, you’d think they’d be able to modify the plants by now. They flavour everything these days.” I pondered out loud.

“You feelin’ it already or what?” He chuckled thickly through his puff.

“No,” I retorted, “at least I don’t think so.”

“You always were a lightweight on this stuff,” he quipped.

“Shut up, I was not,”

“Were too,”

“Was not,”

“Shut up and take the joint.”

I shouldered him and held it to my lips again, taking a longer inhale this time. I let the smoke out in a laugh. “Are we really reverting back to our teenager selves right now?”

“Well, you are. I never stopped, really.” He replied.

I wasn’t sure if it was the weed or just my own conscience, but a wave of remorse washed over me. For some reason I wanted to apologize for leaving him and hurting him, as if an apology would fix anything. Even stoned I realized that was a stupid idea, so I kissed his cheek instead. He turned to look at me, slightly perplexed, and I offered him a warm smile and ran my fingers through his hair gently. He leaned his head into my palm and shut his eyes and that’s when I knew a simple touch was all he needed for reassurance. After a minute he opened his eyes again and smiled.

“Your eyes are as red as a stop sign,” he murmured.

“Mm, lovely,” I purred, leaning in to give him a soft kiss. I put the joint between his lips after and he took it.

My head felt light and fuzzy, my eyes squinty, and laughter kept bubbling in my throat but I didn’t want to let it out so I leaned back a bit and looked up at the now dark sky. Stars were twinkling here and there although not all of them had come out yet, but it still looked stunning to me.

“Gosh, when you get away from all the lights it’s gorgeous out here,”

Jax chuckled and looked up. “Leave it to you to get me all soft about nature and space and shit,” He blew smoke into the night air. “Y’know after you left I never paid attention to the night sky or the sunsets anymore. I only ever did that with you. Without you…I don’t know, it just wasn’t as nice to look at.”

“Oh, Jax…” I murmured sadly, sitting up again.

“Hey, but its okay,” he said quickly, cutting me off. “You’re here now and it feels fucking great to be able to appreciate this again. I don’t know, I get caught up in all this negative shit, outlaw shit, and I forget to do stuff like this. But you remind me to appreciate the little things. Sounds corny as shit but you get it.”

“I do,” I smiled.

He tossed me a quick smile and handed me what remained of the joint. “Here, finish this and we’ll head home, maybe have another, huh?” He winked.

“Hm, we’ll see,” I laughed and got off the motorcycle so he could get it running. He turned the key but the engine just made whirring noise and didn’t start.

“Shit,” He cursed in disbelief. “Shit, no way…”

“What?” I asked, panicking. Were we stuck out there? My hazy mind suddenly drew up a picture of me being devoured by a pack of rabid coyotes.

He let out a loud laugh. “Out of gas,” he said.

“You…you’re kidding me,” I couldn’t hold it in anymore; the laughter finally exploded out of my mouth. Now it really was just like when we were kids.

“No joke,” He chuckled and dug his phone out from his pocket. “I guess I’ll call the shop and get someone to come bring us gas or tow us home.”

“Jesus Christ,” I sputtered through laughter. It was hilariously ironic in its own right, but the weed only made it funnier. Pretty soon there were tears slipping out of the corners of my eyes.

It was another fifteen minutes before Tig showed up in the truck with a gas can. In that time Jax and I had finished off another joint and I was stoned out of my tree, having not touched the stuff in years. So when Tig got out of the truck and wandered over to us shaking his head neither of us could keep ourselves from laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

“Like a couple of fifteen year olds, you are,” Tig grumbled. Noticing our raucous laughter his eyes widened. “Are you stoned? Jax, you got her to smoke up? Unbelievable!”

My laughter after that was unstoppable. My stomach was aching but I felt too bubbly and free to care. I pressed my face into Jax’s chest, still giggling away, and he wrapped his arm around me, rubbing my back. His laughter was a honey-drenched rumble against my ear and it only filled me with more ecstasy. I hadn’t felt that carefree in a long time and by the time we were finally heading back home I was willing to bet that if I had another chance at the bottles I could hit every one of them dead-on.