That’s what’s gonna happen to you. Bam! Bam! Just like that.
TWO SHOTS RANG OUT BY INDIGO MAGAÑA 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 106
The 20th President of the United States James Abram Garfield was shot twice on July 2nd 1881 by Charles Julius Guiteau. The President lay ill until he died on September 19. In a letter written before he was shot, Garfield had said, “Assassination can be no more guarded against than death by lightning and it is best not to worry about either.”
My name is James Garfield too. I wonder what good my parents saw in naming me after him.
I found out about him in a letter from my dad. Dad was a history professor with an encyclopedic knowledge of American presidents. He wrote to me about James Garfield but spared me the details of his death.
That was the last time dad wrote to me, but I had only to wait a few months to hear about Garfield’s assassination.
I had stolen something or broken something of my sister’s—I don’t entirely remember—and getting no proper revenge from our mother, my sister took it upon herself to tell me the story of Garfield’s death, sparing nothing.
Opening one of the history books dad had mailed us, she turned to a black-lined etching of a figure with a smoking gun and President Garfield clutching his back and screaming.
“Do you know who this is?” she asked. She sounded genuinely curious, and I looked at the page for a while, wanting to have an answer for her.
“No,” I said, finally. The image frightened me, and I was confused. I’d only seen my sister open father’s books for school, and she’d certainly never spoken with me about them before.
“This,” she said, a pleased smirk going up one half of her face, “This is–you!” She pointed at the shot man.
“No, it’s I not!” I said. I felt a rush of terror. I knew it could not be true. Father’s books cared very little for living men. But even so, I could not help but stare into the eyes of the dying man. I didn’t have a beard, but his eyes? Well, I had eyes too, didn’t I?
“Yes, it is you!” my sister snapped, “That man is James Garfield. That’s your name isn’t it?” Her voice took on a high mocking pitch.
“Yes, but–no! I’m not him. Take it back!” I felt like crying, and this only encouraged her.
“Yes, it is you. That’s what’s gonna happen to you.” She closed one eye and pointed two fingers at my head. “Bam! Bam! Just like that.”