Packing produce

Two ideas are running through my head right now, trying to converge, collide and breathe more life into one another. Ideas living like lovers, living tandem lives, wanting to be closer, feeding the other. One idea is this: I was genuinely surprised to find out recently that a friend of a friend packs a concealed weapon nearly everywhere. He is not in law enforcement. He works for the promotion of health and wellness. I understand the right to own, carry and fire a gun. I believe there is more of a stink made about that "right" than needs be. I want freedom of choice. I love options, I am definitely an advocate of possibilities. Don't want to carry a gun? Don't. Don't want to have an abortion? Don't. People get way too involved in these sort of rights. That being said, why must guns exist as possibilities under the shirt of a stranger standing next to me in Safeway or dancing next to me at a concert? We have drug free zones and cell phone free zones, and smoke free zones and alcohol-free towns, but I have never seen a gun free zone. A year ago I dreamt about guns, firing them at a certain and precise target, hitting my mark, feeling the kickback of its power. I was filled with the rising tension of a balloon inflating with fear and hate and anger, and I longed for release. Gunfire struck me as an opportunity to release this pressure. I was angry and unable to express my fear, just knew it was out there in the dark somewhere, and I would just like to feel safe as I fired my gun into its blackness. I would carry my weapon strapped to my leg, just above my ankle. It would be accessible, but not noticeable. Lethal, but with a breeze of forgiveness on a good day. The target in my mind has faded considerably a year later and doubt that target practice would regain the fierceness of my attention. When I inquired as to why this person felt the need to carry a gun everywhere, the response? To feel safer. For protection. What do we need to feel safe? Money in our saving account. Seat belts and helmets. Food in our pantry. Clothes in our closets. Good solid tires on our vehicles. A loaded gun under our shirt? I do not feel safe with loaded weapons wrapped around my next corner. Security check please! Diverging toward airports and public threats I am reminded of the security checks in the Hawaiian airports. Hawaiians are damn serious about agricultural inspection. I was required to have all my bags and my body searched for produce. Papayas and mangoes replace guns as I was ordered to itemize my vegetative contraband before I could enter the island and searched before I was allowed to leave. I was a potential security threat for what? The possibility of concealed produce, strapped to a leg, tucked in a carry on bag. I love Hawaii in part because of their strict "check your shit at the door" policy. There are no snakes on the island for this very reason. The snake-free zone of the islands is something I find comfort in as I visit. It all makes me wonder what should be allowed to enter our own islands. Just because someone has a permit allowing them to carry a gun into a concert, should they be able to march right through my safety zone? What if your fear conflicts with my fear? What then? Can I exist safely knowing the guy next to me has a pistol in his pants? Can I live with myself knowing I managed to conceal an avocado through all three checkpoints? I guess what you don't know won't always hurt you, perhaps it is the audacity of its extreme existence that seems most threatening.