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"I can't fucking believe you dude," my dad is fidgeting in the driver's seat. I'd just lost my winning streak in
wrestling. To a girl. "Fucking pussy shit dude, you could have won. If you weren't scared of hurting her you would have
won. If you weren't fucking scared. And that's what the world does to little pussies, it hurts them. You lose. So you
can either take the punch...or swing back."
*
In P.E class. Middle school. The basketball kids have turned my backpack inside out. Scattered my homework. They keep
calling me a faggot and a pussy. Faggot. Faggot. Pussy. Idiots, I think.
About thirty other kids watching and nobody does a thing.
I feel nothing.
*
Four gigantic high school kids are towering over me. My dad is smiling. "This is how you learn pain is temporary. It's
because I love you." And I proceed to get my ass kicked for hours. It's impossible to win. We all know this. I'm getting
slammed and choked. Hip tossed. Slammed. Choked. "Get up." I get up. The round starts and within seconds i'm bouncing
off the mat. The high school boys are laughing. I'm sore and bleeding a little bit. I look over my dad. "I'm proud of
you," he says. "You took it like a man."
*
I never liked boxing. I hate being punched in the face, it hurts. I've got long arms, and fat fists. Even as a kid. But
I hated boxing. I loved wrestling and JJ. I'm in JJ class right now. We're sparring. This kid is really cocky. He's
bragging about beating up some bully at school. How he hurt him, and he's smiling. And I think it's disgusting. The
round starts and I'm hip tossed. We wriggle around, feeling each other's little movements. That's the art of grappling,
sensing a small movement. Reading minds. And I don't know how but i'm put in guard, the kid is on the ground. His legs
around my waist. And I have his collar. I rip it across his throat and begin strangling him with it. I think about the
basketball ball kids. The varsity high school wrestling team. My dad. And I'm strangling him. His face starts turning
red. Our sensei calls the match but I don't stop. I just keep strangle him. His face purple, and he's squirming. My
sensei comes running up and rips me off him. The kid is crying. I'm trembling a little. In the car my dad is grinning,
he says "You beat his ASS dude, fuck yeah man. Fuck yeah." And we high-five.
*
Dad and I circling each other with our palms open. He is laser focused. He slaps me in the face. "Hit me back." He slaps
me harder. "Hit me." He slaps me harder. My face is burning. I step forward and turn my hips, I punch him directly in
his right eye and he falls back laughing. He comes back up, still laughing, and patting his eye which is now swelling.
"Holy shit dude," he says, "I knew you had it in you."
*
I'm in PE again and this giant, soft kid is fuming. A little dingy punk and him had been beefing. Something about the
soft kid's sister.
And the dingy punk is calling him out. "Fucking hit me bro. You won't, pussy. Haha. Yeah I'm gonna fuck her man I'm
gonna fuck your sister too, tell her to watch out."
And the soft kid gets up. He walks over and just slams him across the face, cracks his nose. You can hear it. The crack.
Blood is immediate. He doesn't stop. He just keeps hitting him. And hitting him. Seventy kids watching. Some cheering.
Some look sick. I'm mesmerized.
A coach finally notices and tries to pull the soft kid off but he's too big. Tall, and fat. Huge, really. But so
soft. We're friends kind of. We dissected a frog together once. He hated it.
He hated slitting it open, gagged at the guts and formaldehyde.
He stops punching eventually and his fist is covered in blood. He sits down, shivering.
They're both crying.
*
A fat kid keeps calling me a faggot and a pussy. He's laughing. We're on the football team together. I'm in high school
now. Bigger. Stronger. Angrier. At everyone. At the world, my family. Nothing but hatred in my heart. And this kid
doesn't even mean it. We're friends. But he calls me a pussy again and before I know it, I've pulled him backwards by
the shirt and slammed him into a chainlink fence. I punch him in the face, the cheek. I punch him in the stomach. I
throw him on the ground and turn to walk away. I hear him crying. It happened so fast. I didn't mean it.
I didn't mean it, really.
I'm sorry.
*
I haven't talked to my dad in years. I'm in college now. My therapist asks me if I ever have violent thoughts. I say no,
and I'm lying.
*
The anger is perpetual. Knee jerk reaction to all social interactions is to slam a metal pipe into the other party's
skull. I see a guy smirk in the sandwich shop and imagine he's thinking that I'm a pussy. Think that I should walk over
and beat this metal tray into his face. The seduction of violence, a skill ingrained over a life time of fists and
slams. Screaming at traffic in my car. Images of death and blood and hatred, of beating and strangling and slit wrists.
Crying on the floor of my room and screaming into my knees. Waiting for these urges to subside. Smiling at strangers and
never meaning it. Holding a knife to my chest screaming "Do it pussy! Do it pussy!" before dropping it on the ground and
falling, sobbing. I want it to go away. I want to be a kid again, a kid who reads more than he fights. A kid who loved
lizards and stones. Flinching at every passerby. Every hand extended for a shake. The paranoid idea that everyone is out
to hurt me. That I should strike first. An impulse, reptilian, that if you don't fight back then the world is going to
crush you. That everyone who loves you will one day crack your skull open. Bleeding perpetually and from every orifice.
Bleeding out of my eyes and ears and mouth, my chest and wrists and thighs. Bleeding in public and nobody notices. My
fists clenched.
*
"No I'm not a violent person," I say. And my therapist nods. "Any thoughts of suicide?" And I smile. "No, no. Not ever.
Of course not."
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