Escape artistry

9. Escape artistry (now)

We came up on Broadway, and the excitement in the group increased.

"Here it is!" Chris said proudly, gesturing.

There was a collective gasp among everyone, it seemed, except for me.

"No way!" one of the others said.

"Chris, you beast! How did you manage this?"

"By fucking your mother", Chris said, unbothered.

"Fucking my mother wouldn't be worth this much."

I let the bantering ebb out into a soft chatter while I took the place in front of us in. It was a large theatre with a big billboard announcing names of shows. Tonight was a magic show, with a collection of the top American magicians. They were named below the show title, but I didn't recognise any of them.

"It's the most popular show on Broadway at the moment." It was Sandra, a more quiet girl in her thirties with chestnut hair and glasses. She must have noticed I didn't understand what the fuss was about because she was explaining it to me. "Tickets are not only incredibly expensive, but also impossible to get hold off." She looked at Chris, who was leading the group into the theatre. "Almost impossible."

We were taken in to a huge salon with high chairs and tables, each of which seated four, and a stage at one end. Chris had somehow managed to get us the tables closest to the stage, and I sat down with him, Sandra and a middle-aged gentleman who had been with the company for many years. I looked around me. People were quite dressed up, making me feel a little underdressed in my off-shoulder knitted sweater and glasses.

But as soon as the show began, I forgot about that because it was just so amazing.

The first magician, a woman, was a card magician. It sounded simple, but her tricks left the entire audience in awe. She did things like making cards appear and disappear out of thin air, right in front of our very eyes, and then re-appear in the most unexpected (or expected) places. She was also very pretty to look at, even I who didn't fancy women could tell, with auburn hair and a red, sequined dress and white gloves. I found I was clapping and grinning, even if the champagne that they served us certainly had at least a little to do with my excitement.

The second magician was a classical pull-the-rabbit-out-of-the-hat moustache- and hat-wearing man, but he did it so flawlessly and with such elegance and arrogance, he captivated each and every one of us.

The third was a fakir, an Asian man with long, black hair in a braid who swallowed swords and fire.

The fourth was a contortionist whom I couldn't quite determine the sex of, but they bent their body in the moist impossible ways. It wasn't really a magic show at that point, but nobody minded, especially seeing we were all pretty much drunk at this point.

And then, it was time for the fifth magician.

"And now!" the host of the show said into the old-fashioned microphone, matching the old red velvet curtains around us. "I want to ask you..." He paused for effect. "For silence."

We all became quiet.

"It's time!", Chris whispered next to me as if this fifth magician had been the entire reason we came here. Well, it was, but I didn't know that then.

"Let's all give a warm applause for our escape artist, Tobias!"

When I was a child at the orphanage, around nine or so, I accidentally cut myself on a knife when I helped the cook peel apples.

The rash went so deep into my finger, you could see the tendon beneath.

I felt all of the blood skydive to my feet then, followed by a tingling sensation in my hands as they were deprived of blood. I felt my heart starting to pound, and stars swam before my eyes.

The same feeling came over me now. Although that time, I had fainted. This time, I really didn't want to faint; I wanted to be awake and alert and see everything. So I forced myself to remain awake, taking in every detail.

The man that stepped onto the stage was tall and incredibly well worked out, showing off his body by being shirtless, the only thing he was wearing black cargo trousers that hung loosely off his hips, boasting his V-line. His hair was ragged and short and white, even whiter than the last time I had seen him. The muscles beneath his forearms rippled playfully as he scanned the crowd with his icy eyes and a grin. He had red stripes painted on his chin and cheeks, I saw, as a part of his stage persona, no doubt.

It was Tobirama... My Tobirama.

I shrunk down in my seat, wanting to hide. At the same time, I wanted to run up there and throw myself over him and cry.

I couldn't do either. I couldn't move, I couldn't breathe. I sat transfixed and watched in awe as he performed his show, not having seen me in the audience.

Escape artistry was, I would find out, when the entertainer broke free of chains, cuffs, and other containing devices. Several beautiful women in bikinis tied his ropes, locked his cuffs, and did all sorts of unspeakable things to bind him, but he always broke free in the most incredible ways. No wonder he was so famous on the world's largest entertainment stage; the show was not only incredibly well-made with a high production value, but also unfathomably sexy. Claws of jealousy tore at my heart as Tobirama, or Tobias, touched the women in very suggestive manners as they helped him. I wanted to stand up and run away and cry, while at the same time, I couldn't tear my eyes off the thing.

His finale was a heart-wrenching number where he was tied up in thick ropes and then sunk down into a water tank. A pocket knife was thrown into the tank playfully by one of the girls, and a velvet blanket was put over the tank. I could hardly watch as another girl started a big timer. I held my own breath while the seconds passed, but according to the timer, I could only hold it for forty-five seconds before I had to breathe, which made me incredibly worried as Tobirama was still in that tank. When exactly two minutes had passed, however, the blanket was thrown up by the lid of the tank being opened, and there stood Tobirama, dripping wet and so hot it hurt, with his hair plastered to his face, and he had the knife in his mouth and there were pieces of severed robe at the bottom of the tank.

The audience roared. Tobirama clambered down to the stage floor and took the applause with his arms stretched out, knife still in his mouth.

Then, he saw me. His eyes found mine, and the shock in them was so visible to me, it was almost comical. I could see his lips move around the knife as he was trying to form words. 

I couldn't help it; I stood up and ran out.