In my hand hung a plastic grocery bag containing nearly 4 gallons of blue Dawn dishwashing soap. It was the end of our senior year and we were on our way to the local promenade fountain. I envisioned a large slow moving mass of traffic-stopping bubbles creeping out onto the adjacent road. We were a group of 7 students-turned-brothers with only one goal: to cause a little mischief that friday night. It was going to be a dream come true.
We parked the car and headed out on foot. I surveyed our crew, mentally reviewing the story of recent years. Marino, Paul, Woodroof, Kelly, Tyler, Henry and Kevin. Though we were once strangers, somewhere along the line we had gotten close. We had endured years of academic and athletic bondage together at D'evelyn High; a public charter school with a reputation for above average ACT scores and overwhelmingly ample loads of homework. In fact, to this day, I have yet to take a college course as challenging as in those days. Yet harnassed under such strange academic cruelty, a bond was forged. It was unsaid of course but these were the guys I trusted.
Arriving at the fountain, we wasted no time and immediately began dispensing the soap. A few others took notice and silently stood by keeping tabs on our progress. They were intrigued. A few other groups arrived. We felt their eyes on our backs and soaked up the attention. Slinging the plastic jugs over our heads in huge axe like arcs, I secretly basked in the genius of the plan.
But nothing was happening.
"Dont worry, it'll work." I said with saint like faith. "We just have to wait."
As we stood there, a few guys from a neighboring group directed a few loud comments our way. Over the noise of the splashing fountain I couldn't make out what they were saying. All that was evident was there intention to intimidate. Undeniably, these were not friendly gestures. Regardless, we were not about to let them run our night off course so we did our best to ignore them. The comments continued. It was obvious, they were just looking for a fight.
Then the big one in the middle shouted over the fountain. This time, I got the message loud and clear.
"Hey open your eyes......I can't see you in the dark."
I couldnt believe it. I mean how old were these guys? Judging from this last zinger they were directing their words at Kevin. And why was that? Because Kevin had the darkest skin.
'Were these pricks really throwing racial innuendos around? Come on.' I thought to myself. I was starting to get pissed.
Kevin reassured us, "Forget about it guys, just ignore them... Don't worry I've delt with this before. Reacting only gives them what they want."
Admiring Kevin's level headedness, I was content to follow his lead.
A few uneventful minutes passed, but the idiots still lingered. Kevin leaned over squeezing out a few last drops of dish soap. I was starting to give up on the idea. All the soap had been dispersed and all we had to show for it were 3 lousy inches of foam. Kevin stood up and tossed the empty container into the grass. I began to express my first doubts concerning the big plan, "Kevin I don't know man. I think maybe.......
Whack....Kevin's whole body jolted forward. Ice cubes and soda spilled out of a big gulp cup as it rolled to a stop behind his feet. His hand on the back of his head, he stepped forward in order to stop the momentum.
"What the...?"
By the time I had it figured out we were all 7 sprinting up the sidewalk toward the theater, adrenals raging in hot pursuit after the racists. Apparently, completely unprovoked, either the big guy or one of his many little pawns, i'm not sure which, had thrown an entire big gulp cup, capped, full to the brim, and spiraling into the back of my friend Kevin's head.
After a short sprint we had them cornered against the back of the theater. The two groups glared eye to eye. The night was ripe with conflict.
That's when the big guy made his move.
Obviously experienced with this kind of thing and sensing he was physically outmatched, he tried his might at turning the tables. He grabbed for control of the situation and in my fear and inexperience I handed it right over to him. These are the words he used to do it.
"I'll take on each and every one of you bitches one at a time and kick all your pansey asses."
And suddenly, just like that, the tables were turned. For no good reason at all, the ensuing fight was going to be conducted on his terms.
Unable to imagine another way of doing things, unable to imagine our own terms of engagement, I chose to abide within this jack-ass's parameters of conflict resolution. I remember vaguely thinking something like "Oh, I guess facing him one at a time is the only decent thing to do here. I mean, I dont want to fight dishonorably." Even in something as primitive and obscene as a high school fight I worried about what the others would think. So I accepted his terms, I accepted his supposed authority over me, and though I don't remember all that was said after that, I eventually helped to talk my friends out of the fight. The instigators laughed at us as we walked away.
Later I pieced together the reality of the situation: I had done the right thing for completely the wrong reason. In doing so, our action, or lack thereof, became not the right thing at all.
I had let Kevin down. I had not avenged his lost dignity. Instead, I walked away a victim, forever imagining the defiance that I should have had. "No way asshole, if you want to fight than all seven of us are gunna jump you at the same time, and you won't stand a chance against us. This is one fight you shouldn't have picked." I could have said. Yet I bowed to his will out of timidity without opposing the darkness of the situation. Without trying to muster up the courage of Christ, without applying my will against the actions of the oppressor, I didn't really turn the cheek. I chose weakness. I chose defeat. I chose the path of the coward.
Still to this day, when for one reason or another, I find myself really thinking about that night I feel my heart rate pick up and imagine it going very differently. I picture myself pinning that guy to the ground and pounding him fist over bloody fist.
And I'm ashamed.
After 8 years, I still let this guy degrade me into wishing violence upon another child of God.
After 8 years, I still havn't thrown off that supposed authority over me.
After 8 years, I still allow him to keep me isolated from the freedom of forgiveness.
(To be continued)
