Monday, June 19, 2006

The Fight - A delayed post from mid-April

They're not really interested, maybe because I'm not telling the story
right. You can't blame me. It's my first time telling it. But maybe
it's because they're reacting how normal humane people should react
when hearing a story about a stupid fight. Honestly, what good
reasons do kids have to fight on college campuses?
Anyway, I got in a fight last night. I'd be lying if I told you I
really knew what it was about. There was this kid on my friend's
porch being confrontational, and so I sauntered up looking to get in
on the fuss. I'd like to say that I broke the kid's nose because he
was dropping f-bombs (that oh so hateful word faggot), and I've even
possibly deceived myself into thinking he swung first. Who are we
kidding? I'm so sexually frustrated that the aggression has to come
out some how, this kid was up to no good, and so that was that. I've
never been in a fight before; plenty of wrestling matches, but never a
fight. My fist just kind of acted on its own accord when it cut
through the air and connected with his face. Then when he tried to
retaliate, it was only natural that I headlock him to the ground
before resorting to the ole' ground and pound. I hesitated at first
before throwing those blows while he was under me. I think I even
offered him the opportunity for a ceasefire, but it wasn't meant to
be. I connected at least three solid times while on top of him, then
people were pulling me off, but nobody bothered to restrain him as he
tried to attack me again. My glasses got knocked off during the
ruckus, though luckily someone found them, even if they were severely
mangled. It wasn't until after I had left the party did I notice his
blood all over my favorite Addidas jacket.
So I try and recap the story for my friends this morning, but it
doesn't go as planned. They're not really as interested as I
anticipated. For Christ sake, these are the kids that talk about
their close calls with fisticuffs weekend after weekend. So here it
is, my actual brush with fisticuffs, no close calls this time, and
they don't even care. Maybe because we're all about to graduate from
college and this shit doesn't matter anymore. Before telling them,
though, I debated internally whether or not the incident was even
worth sharing, kind of like deciding whether to share the scoop after
getting with a cute girl. The truth is, I don't know how I feel. I
don't really feel anything. They might not be interested, but it was
still an interesting experience. Now I can die knowing that I've at
least been in one fight. The bloodstains on my jacket have washed
away, and in a short while I'll be off to have my glasses fixed. The
proof will be all gone, but the legend shall live on.