tonight i lost my virginity. i was blushed in the cheeks, and soft in the eyes, but i did it.
i held a Colt 45 Revolver, c. 1965. a new friend of mine named Tim is the owner of this exotic, untouched, fear of mine.
i volunteered for the experience after he promised me that there were no bullets in his house.
Tim revealed the empty chamber of the gun to me, and placed the Colt in my hands like a baby.
it was heavy! the mother of pearl handle was pristine and inviting to hold, but the very idea of holding a weapon sorta freaked me out.
Tim instructed me to hold the barrel to the floor even if the gun isn't loaded. loaded! i was holding an instrument of violence. my stomach turned. me, the peace monger, with a gun in her hand.
i asked academic questions about velocity and the kind of metal used in the gun and the heritage of owners, never feeling okay with the weight of destruction in my grasp.
finally, after Tim showed me how to raise the weapon and aim, i begged release from the experience, and he understood. i talked with him about being a citizen of the world and he talked with me about the right to bear arms.
a peace talk. an investment in the future.
after my heart returned to my body, we conversed about a great many things. education and drugs and farming and the economy. we shared a glass of wine and we began to trust one another.
and then i returned to the fortress i share with Roberto where the knives are barely sharp enough to slice into a watermelon.