Feeding The Habit

"I will go in this Way, Oh but I will find my own way out." -Dave Matthews

Monday, October 11, 2004

Non-Automated Biography


        The hot embers of the sting spread from my cheek slowly. Its redness soon covered the whole face. The echo from the slap was still resounding like sunlight. It was the first time we had met. He was some chubby little black boy and he thought he could kick my ass. Moments became hours.
        "You wanna fight me now?" he said. As he spoke again it was some cross between a snake and a gurgled whisper. But there wasn't one ache in my body that wanted it. What I needed was to sit, to curl up even into the dirt, and cry.
        The background noises grew louder. And not the ones of the voices and murmurs around me, but the quiet ones you don't usually hear. Noise like the hum of your computer, or a fan, or sometimes the sound of water lightly dripping. That day it was all the rustling of soft leaves. They were deafening like an angry child's scream.
        The little chubby boy was still waiting, anxious for an answer. He was looming over me for being about the same height. I twisted my face into something I hoped said determined and slowly shook my head back and forth.