The Unkindest Shot of All

Aggie Aberston rubbed chilled hands together; Milton’s gloves, toboggan hat, and extra coat didn’t prevent her teeth from chattering in response to the cold.

“Keep your eyes peeled. When you see me running towards you, start the motor; be prepared to pull out, fast. I’ll take over when we get to the rendezvous point. Don’t fuck up, like you always do by worrying me with what-ifs. This is our chance to prove ourselves; Bill Rustery is big, I want to get in good with him.”

Aggie couldn’t help feeling anxious as she watched for Milton to return. He’d bullied her, sure, and slapped her around when she was “askin’ for it,” as he said. That usually meant when he was angry about something; she’d had to learn to step soft and simple around him at such times, keeping quiet, not talking unless talked to. He was a good enough provider, had never been out of a job in 17 years of marriage. But some of those jobs she suspected of being illegal, since Milton often was out all night, moreso in the last 5 years. She had only asked why once; she had gotten an aching jaw and a missing tooth for her trouble, so she had just decided to do it his way, it was easier. Lately, it’d been more and more about not having a conscience of her own, which wouldn’t have set well with her folks, if they’d been alive. She knew, though, the comforting laziness of having someone to make all her decisions, to say for her what was right and wrong, another sort of parent figure.

She looked at Milton’s MAGA hat in the seat beside her. “Put it on at the rush, in case somebody else needs a ride back, so’s they can see what side we’re on.

What they should see when they come running back is a MAGA girl, waiting in her truck, defending. Pay attention, and don’t fuck up. This synagogue with all of its big mouths has been a thorn in Bill’s side for years now, and we’ve got to support him. Don’t act like a pussy if you hear a lot of noise, maybe an explosion or two. And have that gun at the ready. You don’t have any record, it’s a clean gun: if somebody’s after me, you’re going to have to plug ‘em. My gun might not be enough if I’m trying to shoot behind me. I showed you how to shoot, now do your duty. I gotta go.”

Privately, she thought of herself as a “MAGA widow,” not in the literal sense, but because she had no real issues, she just couldn’t do without Milton. She had never worked except in the service industry and didn’t want to go back to that.

So, she had gone to the rallies with Milton, had shouted out epithets and slogans for his occasional approval when her voice, full of hatred, was raised against one of his enemies. She’d lived the life of the other women, but rarely gathered with them, because they meant it when they yelled, whereas she was always aware of a separation between herself and her avowed hatreds. She’d always remember the times when Milton had stroked her hair and body in bed at night after a successful hit on a liberal target. It was still worth it, she told herself, even though the 18- years-old twins were already gone from the house, with families of their own.

She heard the noise of shouting and a loud explosion, but probably not the biggest of the noises to be heard that night if they were successful, she thought. Tense, waiting with her uncertain heart going pat-a-pat, she happened to look down at the MAGA hat again. Make America Great Again. She thought of the slogans some liberals had yelled at them two weeks ago when she’d been in a parade with Milton, after the January 6^th heroes who’d stormed the Capitol had begun to be prosecuted: Milton and others wanted to march outside the courthouses to show support. Some of the liberal women there had shouted and hooted: “Make America Great Again? No, My Ass Got Arrested, that’s what you stupid bitches and bastards ought to be shouting! Make the Assshole Go Away, Make the Asshole Go Away!” It all had started up a nascent ulcer that she’d been trying to avoid, going to the doctor more often.

In the distance, she heard the big explosion she’d been warned about, heard noise of a crowd coming towards her. She didn’t wait any longer, but gunned the truck motor, and drew her gun up to fire, rolling down her window to the chill of February air.

She couldn’t see who was drawing close, speaking and laughing hysterically in the dark. But she heard a man’s voice nearby chuckling, jesting, “Well, Aberston sure did some work tonight! Those three bitches he and Bill rode so hard won’t be quick to open their big mouths now.” She got still, even more so than ever as the two chortling males got farther away. At the last, she heard the second one say, “I know! That Milton! He’s the biggest bull of all: MAGA—Milton Aberston Gets Ass! Too bad we don’t all have initials like that!” They melted into the background, still laughing.

MAGA. Milton. Make the Asshole Go Away. “Make Aggie Good Again” all of a sudden popped into her head, and wouldn’t go away. Then, she heard Milton’s voice approaching in the dark; he’d worn his white woolen scarf, and she could even see it bouncing towards her in the nighttime blackness. Reaching her gun up and balancing it on the rolled down window, she drew a bead, carefully, on the pale gray lumpish blot immediately below the white flag-like flopping thing.

Then, she fired three times. Gunning the motor and pulling out, as instructed, she rode miles and years away, into the future.

Victoria Leigh Bennett

 

Bio and Links

Victoria Leigh Bennett (she/her). 

Born WV, residing NE U.S.  Ph.D., Cornell Univ. & Univ. of Toronto, English/Theater.  Website: creative-shadows.com.  Published (though OOP) books:  “Poems from the Northeast,” 2021; “Scenes de la Vie Americaine (en Paris),” [in English], 2022, latter on website.  Between Aug. 2021-Jan. 2024, Victoria has been published nearly 50 times in various publication sites, journals, websites, reviews, print journals, and newsletter poetry & fictions.  She writes fiction/poetry/CNF/flash/essays.  Victoria is one of the original organizers of the poets’ collective @PoetsonThursday on Twitter (now X), along with Dave Garbutt & Alex Guenther.  Twitter (X):  @vicklbennett & @PoetsonThursday.  Bluesky: @katzrtops.bsky.social.  Instagram: bennett.tori.758.