JEFF CALLICO has resided in the Atlanta area since 1975, but originally hails from Louisville, Kentucky. He is recently married, has two children, ages 13 and 8, two dogs and one cat. Currently there are no iguanas, ferrets, scorpions or tarantulas, and probably never will be.

                                                              prediction


They have been married a little over two years, this Steve and Rachel, this couple who met in the latter part of the decade while browsing titles in a used-CD store, him more of a loner than she, and she more of a risk-taker than he. Rachel liked Steve from the very beginning, and Steve, at least in his own mind, knew that she would be the one.
 
One September afternoon, when Rachel returns home from a grocery run, she enters the master bedroom and finds Steve lying in bed naked on his back, his left hand at his side gripping a .38-caliber pistol. Rachel hasn't seen the gun ever before--they discussed the prospect of buying one, for security, but she thought they had decided against it, for reasons she has since forgotten--and doesn't know when Steve purchased it, or even if he had in the first place. She drops her purse and rushes to the bed. He is breathing; there is no blood, no afterburn of gunpowder, but his eyes are closed. Rachel nudges him and his eyes open. He turns his head to look at
her and smiles.
 
"What are you doing?" Rachel gasps, feeling her heart beat furiously.

Steve brings the gun to his chest and lays it casually across, the barrel pointing between them.

"Nothing," Steve says, still smiling. "I just like the feel of it in my hand, how solid it feels. It feels good to me."
 
"Why are you naked?" asks Rachel. Steve grins.
 
"You don't approve?"
 
Rachel's slight smile gives her away. "I'm not saying that, but you scared me. I didn't know what to think."
 
"C'mon, Rache, you know me. Sometimes you don't need to think. Just feel. Hell, I wanted you to find me like this. I'm sorry I scared you, I really am. But I was hoping you'd find it sexy." Steve pauses, returning the gun to his side, then closes his eyes. "Do you?"
 
Rachel moves away from the bed. "Well," she says, "I guess it does look pretty good."
 
"What, the gun, or me?"
 
"Both."
 
Steve opens his eyes and offers Rachel a smile. "I'll be back," she says softly, then turns and exits the bedroom. When she has disappeared from his sight, Steve listens for her steps in the hall and eventually down the staircase and into the kitchen. He hears pots rattling, a faucet running, the refrigerator door slamming shut.
 
Looking down at the gun, he lifts it slowly to his face, clicks open the chamber and peers inside. There--its silver tip gleaming before his eyes--the beautiful bullet waits, a presence known only by one, the one who controls its inherent movement, its predicted purpose, its point of entry, its when and its where.

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© 2002 Jeff Callico