2. A Betrayful Moment
Just do it; just fucking do it -You have to. There is no choice.
I couldn’t believe I was hearing this, that I was actually thinking about it; and worse, was the dreadful feeling as I surrendered to the reality, the knowing, that I actually was going to do it. It was as good as done. Uggg
I knew the planning was critical, and it went on for days or weeks perhaps. I don’t recall exactly when I committed to it, to this nefarious act of treason. I know that a line was crossed, or more accurately lines were crossed many many times and that something tipped for me - and a new level of retaliation was conceived, plotted, and was soon to be executed. Thus the justification.
I would only have a second to deliver the devastating blow I envisaged, to deliver it and escape; everything must be planned perfectly. The rational, the justification, the convincing, the arguments for kept mounting and screaming. The knowing that it was the only way, or in hindsight, the only way I could figure out at the time. All these reasons were constantly screaming in my head. The internal fight, like so many others, was not enjoyable. Always filled with absolutes, black and whites, reaction upon reaction – the yelling.
To inflict as much physical and psychological damage as possible, this was the goal; the physical pain must be maximized. But even more important was the ambush nature of the assault, this would leave an unsettling imprint on this person; so sadly, a person that I loved.
The uneasy legacy that would be left – was a critical piece of the planned assault. For as my enemy would run up the stairs in his own home, answering my trikery filled request , hopefully, the carefree ascent would be forever changed. I wanted him to feel fear and uncertainty, as a deterrent. I wanted my enemy to feel as much pain in that instant as possible - excruciating pain and to feel the horror of no time to prepare a defense. I was to sucker punch him, or more accurately, sucker kick.
I propped open the escape doors, pulled on my boots. Heart racing, fighting off thedeeply conflicting inertias. And the fear of his reaction. This is wrong!, this is evil, this is dirty; he’s your brother! What are you doing???
But, as I made the final preparations, these arguments were offset with the undoubted knowledge that if I didn’t do anything to stop it, the vicious, unpredictable and longgoing abusive behaviour would continue. Simply said, I was sick of it. Being hammered on by my brother had occurred for as long as I could remember, and it was increasing in frequency and viciousness. My brother’s body was full of teenage hormones, and his body was discharging the accumulating negative energy in an understandable but disturbing way. He was beating the shit out of me, his little brother, far too often, and far too aggressively. I could not beat him in a fight, it was not a fair fight, he was 3 years older, at an age when 3 years is meaningful. So, I had to resort to a more primitive ways of doing things.
Thank goodness, I didn’t use a weapon, like that Hell’s angel in Nevada the other day when he was was punched, knocked down, and then pridefull - pulled a gun. Thank goodness, I just used my own body and the element of a surprise as weapons. These, and the advantages high ground position at the top of the stairs.
I betrayed my brother that day, as I kicked him in the face with all my might. I cancelled some innocence, some hope it would be different, some hope that we would perhaps have more compassion for each other. I kicked him as hard as I could. I connected reasonably well. Not the jaw breaking kind of contact that it could have been, but enough that it shook him up in a large way.
I immediately ran out the open door and high-tailed it down the street with my raging brother in pursuit. His profanity filled screaming promised certain retaliation. I reminded him that I knew he could beat me, and to go ahead, but from that moment forward, I would always retaliate at a different level – I would always get even one way or another, and he could count on surprise.
As promised, he did retaliate soon after. He cornered my in the garage. I reminded him that I would respond. He said, well, that this assault, that just this one more - would make us even, and then proceeded to split a molar of mine. Oddly, although that tooth is still half missing, it never needed a repair – it does not seem to decay, is not noticeable and provides me with no pain – an ongoing puzzle to the dentists in my life.
So, with one exception which caused me a black many years later, that was the end of that kind of engagement.
So, how has live transpired since the stair incident on that tepid summer day in 1977. Stay tuned.
Copyright RLJB 2011
Just do it; just fucking do it -You have to. There is no choice.
I couldn’t believe I was hearing this, that I was actually thinking about it; and worse, was the dreadful feeling as I surrendered to the reality, the knowing, that I actually was going to do it. It was as good as done. Uggg
I knew the planning was critical, and it went on for days or weeks perhaps. I don’t recall exactly when I committed to it, to this nefarious act of treason. I know that a line was crossed, or more accurately lines were crossed many many times and that something tipped for me - and a new level of retaliation was conceived, plotted, and was soon to be executed. Thus the justification.
I would only have a second to deliver the devastating blow I envisaged, to deliver it and escape; everything must be planned perfectly. The rational, the justification, the convincing, the arguments for kept mounting and screaming. The knowing that it was the only way, or in hindsight, the only way I could figure out at the time. All these reasons were constantly screaming in my head. The internal fight, like so many others, was not enjoyable. Always filled with absolutes, black and whites, reaction upon reaction – the yelling.
To inflict as much physical and psychological damage as possible, this was the goal; the physical pain must be maximized. But even more important was the ambush nature of the assault, this would leave an unsettling imprint on this person; so sadly, a person that I loved.
The uneasy legacy that would be left – was a critical piece of the planned assault. For as my enemy would run up the stairs in his own home, answering my trikery filled request , hopefully, the carefree ascent would be forever changed. I wanted him to feel fear and uncertainty, as a deterrent. I wanted my enemy to feel as much pain in that instant as possible - excruciating pain and to feel the horror of no time to prepare a defense. I was to sucker punch him, or more accurately, sucker kick.
I propped open the escape doors, pulled on my boots. Heart racing, fighting off thedeeply conflicting inertias. And the fear of his reaction. This is wrong!, this is evil, this is dirty; he’s your brother! What are you doing???
But, as I made the final preparations, these arguments were offset with the undoubted knowledge that if I didn’t do anything to stop it, the vicious, unpredictable and longgoing abusive behaviour would continue. Simply said, I was sick of it. Being hammered on by my brother had occurred for as long as I could remember, and it was increasing in frequency and viciousness. My brother’s body was full of teenage hormones, and his body was discharging the accumulating negative energy in an understandable but disturbing way. He was beating the shit out of me, his little brother, far too often, and far too aggressively. I could not beat him in a fight, it was not a fair fight, he was 3 years older, at an age when 3 years is meaningful. So, I had to resort to a more primitive ways of doing things.
Thank goodness, I didn’t use a weapon, like that Hell’s angel in Nevada the other day when he was was punched, knocked down, and then pridefull - pulled a gun. Thank goodness, I just used my own body and the element of a surprise as weapons. These, and the advantages high ground position at the top of the stairs.
I betrayed my brother that day, as I kicked him in the face with all my might. I cancelled some innocence, some hope it would be different, some hope that we would perhaps have more compassion for each other. I kicked him as hard as I could. I connected reasonably well. Not the jaw breaking kind of contact that it could have been, but enough that it shook him up in a large way.
I immediately ran out the open door and high-tailed it down the street with my raging brother in pursuit. His profanity filled screaming promised certain retaliation. I reminded him that I knew he could beat me, and to go ahead, but from that moment forward, I would always retaliate at a different level – I would always get even one way or another, and he could count on surprise.
As promised, he did retaliate soon after. He cornered my in the garage. I reminded him that I would respond. He said, well, that this assault, that just this one more - would make us even, and then proceeded to split a molar of mine. Oddly, although that tooth is still half missing, it never needed a repair – it does not seem to decay, is not noticeable and provides me with no pain – an ongoing puzzle to the dentists in my life.
So, with one exception which caused me a black many years later, that was the end of that kind of engagement.
So, how has live transpired since the stair incident on that tepid summer day in 1977. Stay tuned.
Copyright RLJB 2011
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