This Might Hurt(38)

I positioned my microphone in front of Red’s mouth. “Can you confirm this is actual glass you’ve obliterated?”

“Yes.”

“Hand one of the smaller shards to me.”

Red did as instructed. I held the piece of glass in the air for the audience to see. A big screen above our heads projected everything happening onstage for those in the back of the theater.

“You’ll recall we were talking about pain a moment ago. Are you aware that studies have shown pain is exaggerated by fear?” I glanced at Red, waiting for an answer. She shook her head, more focused on the glass in my hand than on anything I was saying.

I brought the shard close to my face, twirling it between my fingers. “If you’re relaxed and believe whatever you’re about to go through won’t be painful, then you’ll feel none or only a fraction of the pain you’d experience if you were anxious.”

I extended my tongue and placed the piece of glass on it, prompting gasps around the auditorium. I closed my eyes, exhaled deeply, then brought the glass into my mouth and swallowed.

“Thus, the key to eliminating much of the world’s pain is to first eliminate its fear.” I opened my eyes and flaunted my empty tongue. I hadn’t even felt the glass traverse my esophagus.

The audience went wild, hooting and clapping. Their faith was mine to lose.

I asked Mole to hand Red a pair of shears from the toolbox. I told Red to cut off a piece of the rose’s stem, then guided the young woman into swallowing it, thorns and all. She trembled at the beginning, but with my whispered reassurances, she pulled off the feat without a hitch. By the end, she was grinning. I asked the crowd to give Red a round of applause, then thanked her for her participation and dismissed her.

When she returned to her seat, her friends fussed over her, impressed by her thimbleful of courage. They patted her shoulder and squeezed her hand, aching for an iota of magic to rub off on them. I’d seen it a thousand times. I would see it a thousand more.

For the next year I would perform in front of the entire country, at least one stop in every state. The long hours and late nights were finally paying off. Soon I would need an assistant, someone to book my travel, see to my meals, and ensure every stage was properly set up. In two months’ time I would perform in a theater twenty minutes from my hometown. I had not yet decided whether to invite my father; we hadn’t spoken in five years.

I shifted my attention to Mole, asking him to remove the drill bit set from his toolbox. He handed me one of the smaller pieces, which I swallowed whole. The audience gasped again, equal parts horrified and delighted. Mole ingested a tiny screw with my calm direction. I thanked and released him.

I moved on to the last student. Bifocals had been patiently holding the small blue box all this time. I wrapped my arm around the reluctant man’s neck. Participants always assumed this chumminess was genuine. It comforted them to consider us partners.

“If I were you, I’d feel good about my odds. That’s a small box you’re holding. How big of an item could be inside of it?”

Bifocals bobbed his head.

I removed my arm. “Open it.” I walked away, and waited with my back to him, a grin spreading across my face as I watched the tense audience.

Bifocals did as he was told, prying off the lid. When he saw what was inside, he nearly dropped the box. His quivering unsettled the audience, hushing them to silence.

I returned to Bifocals’ side, patting his arm. “Share with them the contents.” I held the microphone to his mouth. He was so scared he couldn’t speak.

“Spider.”

“How many?”

“Two.” He wiped his forehead, hand shaking. The cameraman zoomed in on the box’s contents so the audience could see the two spiders scurrying around.

A shudder rolled through the crowd. In the front row, a spectator covered her eyes, then peeked through the gaps between her fingers.

I took the box from Bifocals and squeezed his hand. “Consider everything I’ve told you about pain. It’s exaggerated by worry.”

He relaxed some once the box of spiders was no longer in his palm.

“Dread is more painful to the brain than the thing you are actually dreading. Let me repeat that: dread is more painful to the brain than the thing you are actually dreading.”

With that, I plucked a spider from the box, held it up for the audience to see, tilted my head back, dropped the spider in my mouth, and swallowed.

Dozens of spectators screeched. Several clamped hands over their lips.

Again I showed the audience my empty mouth. Again they roared.

Anyone who claims she wouldn’t revel in the face of adulation is a liar. But performing these feats myself was far from the toughest part of the show. Convincing perfect strangers to do them was the real trick.

Over the course of three minutes, through a combination of coaching and taunting, I coaxed Bifocals into eating the other spider. He appeared not entirely pleased with me afterward, and more than a little queasy, as did many of his observers. I often wondered as to their ruminations by this point in the show.

Thank God I didn’t raise my hand.

Imagine all the spiders crawling around the broken glass and drill bits inside her.

She couldn’t have pressured me like that.

I could and would have, by the way. The average person vastly overrated their own willpower or vastly underrated mine. Let us also credit the power of public shame and the lengths to which individuals will go in order to avoid it. In 650 shows, the second spider had not once gone uneaten.