Use Violence

I wasn’t exactly sure what my sister had done for her own performance, but she’s always been, uh, let’s say “tenacious”. So, back when we were offstage, I wondered if she was the perpetrator when I noticed a long strand of, apparently blood-covered, silk tied around a metal ball, making a sort of improvised flail. An instant later, the balding man stepped in my way and began shouting in Spanish and obviously trying to shoo me away from it.

While I was silently applauding whichever girl had used the flail, I was looking for something more suited to me. To my surprise, I found a rack in the back that held two pistols, a spaghetti western style revolver and a nineteen-eleven; a Kalashnikov that looked like it had seen service in Korea or Vietnam; and an AR-15. I grabbed the last one, a handful of tools, and a folding table for my props.

Which is how I began a four minute drill disassembling and reassembling a rifle on stage. While I would have liked to show off some jiu jitsu or muay thai or something, my skill there was practically non-existent and I didn’t have a partner to even attempt to spar with. I'm better with a gun, but I didn't have any bullets to demonstrate my marksmanship.

As I began disassembling the rifle it was obviously not an original AR-15, but one of the derivatives, a Heckler and Koch Four-Sixteen. After finding the right tools, the process went quickly, and, once I was disassembling the bolt carrier group, I realized that someone had removed the firing pin from this gun, meaning that, even if I had managed to acquire some bullets, I wouldn’t be able to fire them. While I admit that this was probably a smart move on the part of the captors, it struck me again, just how impotent I was, even after getting my hands on an otherwise deadly gun.

Anyway, I finished reassembling the gun before the time ran out and was left with nothing to do but step out from behind the table and pose with the rifle. I imagine the sight would probably have gotten me a date in Texas, but, here, in some underground auction house somewhere in Mexico, I just felt like a silly Barbie doll that had mistakenly been tossed in a box of GI Joes.

The chime rang, signaling the end of the performances before the feeling of helpless frustration led me to tears. A voice over the loudspeaker said, "Setenta e cinco, saia do palco à sua esquerda, do lado oposto de onde você entrou." And, it was immediately followed by another voice that said, "Seventy-two, leave the gun on the table and exit to your left, opposite where you entered. Todos los demás, salgan a su derecha, por donde entraron."

So, doing my best to hold my head high and stifle any tears, I walked off stage.