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"Put the gun down!" yells the octogenarian.

"Ok," I sigh exasperated.

"You load those bullets back into it now!" she orders.

"Right," I say as I gingerly remove the .32 from the top of the china closet and put the bullets into the gun's cylinder.

"Don't you ever take my gun again!" threatens the old lady.

"When did you last clean the gun?" I ask.

"Your father cleaned it before he died 25 years ago," Mom responds.

"That gun is 50 years old. It could misfire and fall apart in your hand. It's dangerous to have around the house. Let me take it to the police," I plead.

"But I need it for my protection," Mom fires back.

"Suppose a thief steals the gun and shoots you. Remember the time you almost shot me?"

Mom arches her eyebrows and takes a deep breath. "I heard a noise. It was late. You came in the house without knocking."

"You could've killed me."

"But I didn't shoot. You're alive, and I didn't have to spend my golden years in the slammer. Okay, I surrender! Take the damn thing to the police now!"

"Do you have any more ammo?"

"Look in the coffee table."

I pull out the drawers, and my mouth drops. Mom has 750 bullets in three boxes. "Were you planning for a siege? You have enough bullets to hold off Homeland Security."

"I like to be prepared," she quips.

After removing the bullets from Mom's gun, I load it and her ammo boxes into plastic supermarket bags and glance at my watch. Flu shots would only be available for another hour at the Gloucester County Library. I have to dump the bags at the closest police station and drive to the Gloucester County Library for my flu shot.

After I arrive at the police station and want to hand the loaded bags to the officer, he gives me a suspicious look. "Where do you live?" he asks.

"West Deptford."

"You have to bring this to the West Deptford police."

"But that's four miles away, and I have to get my flu shot at the Gloucester County Library," I plead.

"I'll phone ahead so they know you're coming!" His voice shoots back as I leave with my loaded bags.

Did the surveillance video in the station's parking lot capture my license plate? Probably. As I drive to the Gloucester County Library, no red lights flash in my rear view mirror and I don't hear sirens. I drive below the speed limit to avoid getting pulled over. After what seems forever, I turn into the crowded library parking lot. The whole world wants a last-minute flu shot here. My loaded bags guard the car while I get my flu shot.

The line moves quickly. I get in my car. Go slow. No police activity visible. No flat tires. No mechanical breakdown. I wonder if Bonnie and Clyde carried as much fire power as I do.

I reach the West Deptford municipal parking lot without incident. As I enter the station, an officer walks toward me. "We've been expecting you, " he booms.

"I had to get my flu shot," I squeak.

I surrender the gun and ammo. He gives me a receipt and tells me to keep it in a safe place because the gun was unregistered. The receipt disappears when I move to Pennsylvania. Does Pennsylvania have an extradition policy for this? The officer said the gun would be destroyed, but what about 50-year-old bullets? Were they past their expiration date?

- Mary Mills

Mary Mills is a teacher of world languages. She has translated poetry from German to English, and her work, "Voices of Theresienstadt," has appeared in Pacific Coast Philology. She also dabbles in poetry forms. Her version of an extended haiku is on www.newgrange.com as "Winter Solstice at Newgrange." Her sestina, "SOMA," has appeared in The Potomac: A Journal of Poetry and Politics. This is her first piece of humorous non-fiction.