Plan of Attack

Brian and Gus listened to the president’s speech following the mass slaughter of twenty children, and six adults in Newtown Connecticut. In between the well-meaning words of comfort President Obama offered, the sounds of sobbing, and an occasional wail could be heard coming from the grief-stricken audience. Brian looked over at Gus as the president began to read the names of the fallen, Noah, Jack, Jessica, Charlotte, the list continued. While he never touted himself as being a religious man, Brian couldn’t help but concede that but for the grace of God, the names being read could have included Gus. This seemed like the perfect time to go over the emergency plan that he and the munchers had been drilling into their son.

“Gus, do you remember everything your moms and I told you about strangers?” Brian asked.

“Keep my distance, and don’t stop to talk to anyone. Don’t let anyone put their hands on me, and don’t get into the car with anyone who doesn’t know the password,” Gus said.

“What’s the password?” Brian asked.

“Pizza,” Gus said.

“What happens if someone comes after you?” Brian continued.

“Run as fast as I can, and scream, and try to find a McDonalds, or a Burger King, and run behind the counter,” Gus said.

“Good,” Brian said. Until now everything he had told his son about survival seemed to have taken hold, but what had taken place in Newtown was something that reached far out of the realm of Brian’s nightmares. How does one prepare his child for a crazy person with a gun? “Gus, I want you to feel safe. I don’t want you to go through life afraid, but you have to be careful.” Brian searched for the right words.

Sensing what was weighing on his father’s mind, Gus took the lead in the conversation. “We have fire drills at school, where we line up, and follow the teacher quietly, and if there’s a tornado we go inside the coat closet,” the boy said.

Brian seized the moment. “What would you do if someone came inside your classroom, with a gun? What if the gunman shot Mrs. Beard, then started shooting your classmates?” he asked.

Gus thought for a moment as he tried to envision what life would be like without his friends Tyler, Brianna, Nathan, and even Maggie, the pain in the ass little chatterbox who sat behind him, and kicked his chair. What would school be like without his teacher, Mrs. Beard? Who would break up the fights, and let them know when it was time for recess, and lunch. Who would make sure that Goldie, the class goldfish was fed? …..“I would fight,” Gus finally said.

That wasn’t the answer Brian had hoped for. “No, Gus. You have to try to shield yourself. Hide behind your desk, crawl inside the coat closet, play dead,” Brian said.

“You didn’t play dead, or try to hide away when Tony needed you,” Gus said.

“What are you talking about?” Brian looked perplexed.

“That night of the prom, when the police jumped on Tony, you didn’t run away. You went to help him, and so did Justin, and Justin’s mom, and the kids at the prom. Everybody fought,” Gus reminded his father.

“That was different,” Brian attempted to explain.

“How?” Gus interrupted him. “The police had guns. They could have shot you, but that didn’t stop you from fighting back. I could throw a desk, and try to knock the gun out of the gunman’s hand. Tyler always has his B-B-gun. He could shoot the guy’s eyes out. The girls could throw books, while the boys throw chairs.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good plan, son,” Brian said.

“Why not?” Gus looked surprised. “If the gunman is only one man, he can’t shoot all of us at once. If everybody fights, then some of us could get away.”

By now the president had concluded his speech, but there was one part that stood out in Brian’s mind. That was the part when the president spoke of an unnamed little boy who said that he knew karate, and volunteered to lead everyone to safety. Gus was that child, willing to lead the charge, and if need be, sacrifice his own life for the safety of his classmates. Not bad for the son-of-a-fag.

At that moment Brian was unsure if he should swell with pride, or tremble in fear.  “Gus, can I have a hug?” He held his arms out.

Gus walked over to his father’s embrace. “What’s wrong, pop? You don’t like my plan of attack?” he asked.

Brian squeezed his son tight. “It needs work. We’ll figure it out,” he said.

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