gun

I found a gun, last week. It was late and I was In Oakland. Drunk. Walking alone at night, carrying three days worth of stuff and costumes from performing for the 100K Burning Man crowd. I was running through nightmares in my head, playing them out. Being mugged, attacked, harassed. Ten blocks from my house, five blocks, two. As I walked under the bridge just past MacArthur, I saw something on the ground. Something with weight. The city is my shopping center, the ground is my bargain bin. I am a collector. And I welcomed the distraction from fear.

It was a pistol. Probably just a squirt gun.

I picked it up. It was metal. Heavy. The plastic was broken off of one side of the handle from where it had crashed against the concrete. Probably thrown from a car. The serial number had been burnished off. I could see through the broken handle that there were bullets in it. It was real. I put it in my pocket. I liked the weight of it, it felt good. Like power. A whole new series of thoughts came to mind. My fantasy attackers from earlier came back, but this time I had control. I had a gun. But it turned quickly. As quickly as it took to run through the scenario to the point where I'd have to use it. I don't know how to use a gun. I know nothing about them. And by pulling one out, I'm all of a sudden on their level. I'm a threat. NO longer a victim. Shooting me would be no longer murder, but self-defense. Behind that came another stream of fears. Whom-ever discarded the gun might be coming back for it. They would attack me and I wouldn't know how to defend myself. I had a weapon, but didn't know how to use it. I didn't even know how to take the safety off. I wanted to try shooting it, but was afraid it would blow up in my hands. Or perhaps ricochet and hurt me. But it was too late to put it back. This piece of power was turning into a large metallic demon in my pocket. Besides, I didn't want some angry and desperate kid to find it. I figured, if it was with me-- no one would get hurt. I made it home safely and immediately got it out of me. Away from me. I put it in my little dresser with the Barcelonese Mannequin painted on the front. I then cast it out of my mind and went to sleep.