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Jett Superior laid this on you on || January 16, 2007 || 2:22 pm

white-knuckling it

When I was in gradeschool, Mike Brown tripped me out on the playground and then cleated me in the ribs. Hard. “You shouldn’t even be here! That’s what you get for playing with the boys!” he shouted at me, red-faced and spitting. Mike was known as one of the more popular, handsome boys in the whole school. We had been pretty good friends up until that day.

That day, I’d thrown in with the boys and bested Mike Brown all up and down the soccer field.

I lay there, stunned and hurting and short of breath, amazed that there was no one who would hazard to come over, dust me off and help set me to rights. It was out of the question, of course, for anyone to dare telling Mike what a huge tool he was in that moment. My friends; how could someone not have said something?? They were my friends! A stick stabbed me in the back as I tried to recall what it was like to have oxygen in your lungs, to pull in and expell air effortlessly and without thought. It seemed eons before it happened.

Two years later, Mike Brown begged and begged me to be his girlfriend. Begged so long and so hard, in fact, that he began to look gaunt and sort of twitchy for a time. Three years after that, he broke his neck in a football game and became a quadraplegic. He had grown even prettier in the ensuing five years.

I believe in karma, and one of life’s hardest lessons for me has been to just give over sometimes and let the world –my world– right itself and cant back into balance. Now, I’m not saying that my bruised ribs equalled his broken neck, but one can never tell.

For the past year and a half I have been dealing with a Mike Brown on a daily basis…someone who thinks it sport to debase and disrespect me at every possible turn. More and more I’ve resorted to ‘Tuning You Out, Fucker’ as my way of handling this, because in the very core of my being I know that part of the lesson here is to learn Just To Keep My Fucking Mouth Shut. Some days I’ll even do the tune-out thing and giggle all at the same time, just to see the impotent fury that results.

Some days, though, it grinds and wears on me and puts me just this side of throwing a pity party for myself. It hurts me, because I’ve truly done nothing wrong, and one of my biggest character flaws is not being able to communicate hurt in a reasonable, unenraged manner. I’ve attempted to speak with this person, who is just so stubborn and childish and passive-aggressive that they’re near-impossible to get along with. I was met with a curt, “Let’s not get into this NOW.” So I asked when. Asked three times, as a matter of fact, and was met with silence.

There seems to be silence across the board, when silence is the last thing the situation calls for. Sure, there are knowing looks of sympathy, but those just piss me right the fuck off.

No one is saying a damn thing, once again. I wait in silence, strained and upset, for the snapped-neck instance, and I’m horrible for it.

My whole life I’ve just wanted someone to defend me when I merit defense, without my having to ask for it. I cannot recall that it has ever, ever happened.

I am sick of being A Trooper. Do you hear that, world? DO YOU???

2 worked it out »

  1. Shamrock 1.16.2007

    I so believe in karma. It has never failed, whether I’m on the good end or bad. But my brain gets stuck on this one: what karma can I expect (or give off) when I’ve done something that is absolutely necessary for me, and done with as much kindness as possible, but hurts someone else out of necessity?

     
  2. skillzy 1.17.2007

    Hey now, you just told us about Sam defending you from a mouthy punk (not the same, I know, but still).

    I will strap on my shining armor and roll into G-town anytime, just call me. But not this weekend. Because, well, you know why.

    Us troopers gotta stick together.

     

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