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this story is called first husband and itis by tiff holland my mother, wearing bright colors, as always,and with something snappy blaring on the stereo swings open thedoor. mike is five four although he claims five six, and he'sholding a small bouquet of grocery store flowers. i've warned himabout my mother. "my, aren't you queery looking?" she says. "these are for you." he thrusts the wiltyflowers into her hand and stride down the hall, his footsteps clackingbecause he wears those short boots he likes. my second husband willcall them "beatle

boots." my first husband just calls them florsheims.i call them dorky, but in any case, he isn't fazed. i am standing at the end of the hall underneatha sort of mini- chandelier which is missing two of its danglingprisms. it is the chandelier my best friend tracy once swungfrom giving my mother fits, and i believe this incident hasmade it the most powerful spot in the house. "ready?" he asks. my mother is coming after him, but i am alreadyready. i have

been ready all my life. she says somethingas we pass, but i can't hear her. i told her we're going to a hauntedhouse, but really, we're going shooting. that would really drive hernuts. i can't believe my eyes when we get to the lake and he pops thetrunk to guns, guns, a variety: pistols and rifles and a shotgun.i will wonder what i am doing. i met mike working at a pizza parlor.he hasn't yet joined the army. i have never been this close toany form of weaponry. even the knives in our house are dull. when i come home, the flowers will be in avase in my bedroom, a

plain glass vase with a chip on the top. mymother will have put them there to make a point, but i won't care.i will have shot pine cones and empty rc cola cans (the preferredbeverage at the brown household) to pieces. i will have shreddedlily pads with buckshot and amazed my future husband. i willhave discovered a talent i didn't know i had. i am a hell ofa shot. already it will have occurred to me, i could always shoot her.