I Used to Own a Gun

Here’s What Happened To It

Photo by Sofia Sforza on Unsplash

Buying a handgun in Maine is as easy as buying a cheeseburger.

Years ago when I was living in Bangor, I was swimming laps at the YMCA, and I took a break to tread water and chat with the lifeguard. The conversation turned to firearms.

“I’ve always wanted to own a gun,“ I told him.

“I can sell you one!” he said.

Turns out that he, like many Mainers, was a gun dealer on the side.

A week later, I was the proud owner of a snub-nosed revolver and four boxes of ammo.

I’d wanted a gun ever since I learned to shoot a rifle at summer camp when I was 10. I adored shooting — the solid feel of the gun in my hands, the precise motions of opening the chamber, pushing in the ammo, then clicking it shut. I enjoyed sighting down the barrel, then carefully squeezing the trigger, bracing against the inevitable kick.

Most of all, I loved how good I was at it. Every shot landed in or near the bull’s eye. At summer’s end, I won the prize for the best shot in my age group. I’d always been a near-sighted klutz, the last kid chosen for any team.

Finally! A sport I was good at.

When I got back from camp, I clamored for a gun. My parents were horrified. They were…