the tall tales
When Jude was little they were asked by their teacher what they wanted to be when they grew up. Jude knew this already (they had known for as long as they could remember) and said without hesitation, "An FBI agent." Their reply got a laugh from the teacher and a dismissive pat on the head but Jude remembers the unfurling warmth in their chest when they finally said it aloud, the proud tilt to their chin.
Jude graduated from high school and applied to the FBI academy as soon as they were old enough, wrote an essay about what they wanted to keep safe to earn their admission. When they were brought in for the interview the professors eyed them from the vantage point of their high chairs and asked Jude to expand on what they had said in their essay. "What do you most want to protect?"
"It's silly," Jude began, in a voice that started small, "But I want to protect everyone I can. I want to become an agent so that I can help people who have no one else to help them. I want to be an agent so that I can change someone's whole world."
-----
Jude excelled on the firing range but they hated the weight of the gun in their hand. Their teacher didn't understand their reluctance to use the rifle, the way they recoiled when a gun touched their shoulder, the face they made when a pistol was pressed into their palm. Jude could not rightly explain why the guns disgusted them and was miserable on the firing range until another student approached them. The man had opalescent hair and sly blue eyes and adjusted Jude's hold on the gun so their fingers curled limply about the barrel.
"You're the one who wants to save the world, right?" He asked, but he didn't wait for an answer before he sidled in behind Jude and moved them, shifted their weight back on their heels. "If you're planning on rescuing people you need to get better with a gun, agent."
Jude frowned at him and the man laughed. "Guns are a good way to protect someone," he said and then moved off, correcting the other students. Jude looked back at the target and the gun in their hand and when they fired this time three neat holes went through the chest of the paper man.
Jude graduated from high school and applied to the FBI academy as soon as they were old enough, wrote an essay about what they wanted to keep safe to earn their admission. When they were brought in for the interview the professors eyed them from the vantage point of their high chairs and asked Jude to expand on what they had said in their essay. "What do you most want to protect?"
"It's silly," Jude began, in a voice that started small, "But I want to protect everyone I can. I want to become an agent so that I can help people who have no one else to help them. I want to be an agent so that I can change someone's whole world."
-----
Jude excelled on the firing range but they hated the weight of the gun in their hand. Their teacher didn't understand their reluctance to use the rifle, the way they recoiled when a gun touched their shoulder, the face they made when a pistol was pressed into their palm. Jude could not rightly explain why the guns disgusted them and was miserable on the firing range until another student approached them. The man had opalescent hair and sly blue eyes and adjusted Jude's hold on the gun so their fingers curled limply about the barrel.
"You're the one who wants to save the world, right?" He asked, but he didn't wait for an answer before he sidled in behind Jude and moved them, shifted their weight back on their heels. "If you're planning on rescuing people you need to get better with a gun, agent."
Jude frowned at him and the man laughed. "Guns are a good way to protect someone," he said and then moved off, correcting the other students. Jude looked back at the target and the gun in their hand and when they fired this time three neat holes went through the chest of the paper man.