26 May, 2009
I’m a monster lightning bolt, green muscles, web shot, phasers to kill, back on my feet. I’m the youngest black belt in the country and I’m Bruce Lee on crack. I centre myself, my sensei would be proud, and shoot my fist of steel into the prick’s chest, which does not move. His feet and friends’ feet move. Their fists move. I turn egg, sonic, armadillo.
This is how revenge movies start, sensei.
It’s always there after dinner. Right after any time I eat, in fact, and I don’t clear up after myself. I’ve been known to lose it. I mean lose it; pull the tablecloth off the table, over my head and start leaping waving my arms and knocking chairs, plates, glasses over. I’ve been barred from every cafe and restaurant in the city for it.
We tried everything. Hypnosis. Role-reversal (whereby I play the one clearing the plates and he/ she (I) sit there passively accepting the situation. Nothing works. I’ll stop, give them the eye. Then I’ll start yelling. Plates out windows. We once lived in a sixth floor apartment overlooking a high street. You can figure it out. Ketamine for God’s sake. All I got was a headache and involuntary drooling.
I can still see myself in that mirror, right eyelid twitching (left in the mirror) as I struggle to rinse the soap from my hands. I’ve already sent two messages. The phone is in shards on the tile floor. Behind me in the stall, a man grunts and emits a huge fart. I am more furious than at any other time in my life.
Before that this little snowball of a girl, all freckles and prickles. I twisted that rubix cube from all solid colours to a shit mix.
But each one was practice for this one girl. All others could slip through, as long as I gripped just right on this one. I knew her online for a decade before we met.
Having known her a month I told her I loved her. For a decade it’s been like that. She was all the missing pieces of these different girls. This was going to be good.
I told her I loved her. We kissed immediately. For the first two weeks my eyes were closed. End of week three I was looking around. I couldn’t make my self grip.
I told myself I’d not gone for sex. Now I’m sitting at home alone, thinking about all the girls I want to sleep with because I am a whore.