The Bomb dropped by recently for a little coffee and social intercourse. I was flattered; although I had grown up with The Bomb, we didn't hang out at the same places or know the same people, so I had never really gotten to know it very well.
We chatted for a while about the weather and the Blue Jays' chances of getting to the World Series. As the conversation wore on, I got the distinct impression that The Bomb was upset, but I couldn't catch what it might be upset about. I hesitated, not wanting to set it off, but I eventually felt compelled to find out what was wrong.
"Is anything the matter?" I asked.
"I...I don't know," The Bomb muttered, staring at the floor. "I've been thinking about things lately, about my job. You know, a weapon my age shouldn't have to travel the way I do..."
"You mean, from silo to silo?"
"Yeah," The Bomb explained. "From one week to the next, I never know where I am...Boston, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh - they're all starting to look the same to me."
"But," I protested, "the work you do is vitally important. You protect the entire North American continent. Surely, that's something you can take a lot of pride in."
"I used to," The Bomb allowed. "I used to love it. Now, the only thing I can feel is the pressure. Knowing that the fate of the free world rests on my warhead is not as enjoyable now that I'm getting on in years..."
"Oh, don't be like that," I said, finally getting an idea of what the visit was really about. "how old are you?"
The Bomb tried to hem and haw its way out of answering, but it finally admitted that it had recently turned 40.
"Well, there you go," I pointed out as cheerfully as I could. "That's not very old as strategic weapons go. The gun has been around for centuries!"
"Yes," The Bomb responded, "but, the gun has other - civilian - uses. I've been trained as a Cold War bargaining chip; that's all I've ever been good for, except once, a long time ago."
"You ended a war."
"I know," The Bomb agreed without much pleasure. "But, do those guys at the Pentagon remember the service I put in? No - they've got their eyes on that smart new weapons system..."
"The Strategic Defense Initiative?" I asked.
"Star Wars!" The Bomb hissed.
"It could never hold a candle to you," I said.
"You wouldn't think so," The Bomb immodestly agreed, "but, it's a weapon system eat weapon system world out there. Those new laser weapons are just waiting for one mistake - just one - so they can move in and take over!"
"I'm sure that's not true."
"I hear the talk," The Bomb shrilly insisted. "Don't think I don't know what's going on. They want to make me obsolete, to push me out so that newer, younger weapons can take over my job...I never met a General you could trust..."
"That simply isn't true," I insisted. "It can't be..."
"You know," The Bomb reminisced in a calmer tone of voice, "I always dreamed of retiring. I thought it would be nice if I could one day protect the borders of a small third world nation. Nothing fancy, you understand, just an easy way to enjoy my sunset years...
"I never imagined that some day would come so soon..."
I could hear the sadness behind the words, but there was nothing I could do. All normal arguments seemed useless. "You know," I tried, "I had my birthday around the same time as you had yours..."
"Really?" The Bomb asked.
"Yeah," I told it. "And, you know, my birthday didn't get nearly as much play in the newspapers and on television."
"I don't remember it getting any mention at all," The Bomb said after a long pause. Sensitive, as ever.
"Maybe you should enjoy the limelight while you can," I gently suggested. The Bomb thought this over and, by the time it left, seemed in much better spirits.
For which I am extremely glad. In the crazy mood in which I found The Bomb, it might have done something the whole world would regret later.
