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I
was walking down the sidewalk along a street. Across
it in the opposite direction walked a man in military
uniform, holding a gun. I turned to look in his direction
and crossed to stand in front of him.
"Hi;
can I ask you a question?"
He
looked surprised that someone had spoken to him, but
nodded. "Yeah, sure."
"Why
do you carry that gun?"
He
looked confused.
I
repeated, "Why do you carry that gun?"
"I
carry it because I'm supposed to," he finally
answered.
"And
you do what you're supposed to, right?" I asked
him, trying not to let my sarcasm get the better of
me.
"That's
right," he answered firmly, chin up and shoulders
back.
"So,
if your commanding officer told you to shoot me right
now, would you shoot me?"
"No,
why would I shoot you?"
"Your
commanding officer has just instructed you to shoot
me because 'I'm disturbing the peace.' Why won't you
shoot me?"
"I'm
not going to shoot you," was the response, this
time more definitive.
"Then
why do you carry the gun?"
He
was obviously becoming irritated by me and this trivial
conversation. "I carry the gun because it's the
rules. I am a soldier and I am supposed to carry this
gun in case I should ever need it!"
"Well,
we already know you don't carry it because it's the
rules and you're supposed to. So, obviously you believe
you might, at some point, need it. And the only reason
you would need it is because you're scared."
"I'm
not scared!" he scoffed.
I
continued, ignoring him, "Which is odd, as this
is a civilian street. No one here is threatening you
with weapons and raised fists - they're trying to
go about their everyday lives as best they can with
an armed soldier in the street. So you must be scared
because of subconscious guilt."
"I
have nothing to be guilty about!"
"And
if you're guilty about being on this street because
you don't belong here, you should get off it and not
come back."
Apparently
the soldier had no come-back for that. He stood there
before me, looking flustered. I smiled at him and
said goodbye, and I walked back across the street
on my way. I felt him staring after me, probably hoping
to come up with a suitable curse that would bring
me to tears. But none came. I never saw the soldier
again. Whenever I walked that street, I felt a sense
of pride that he was gone. Every little bit counts,
I said to myself days later, and I crossed the street
and stood before a man in military uniform.
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