Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Posted by Zach in News

I went to a concert of Russian Choral Music. Russian music exists with a beauty that can only be born of harshness. Outside the concert in a harmony all it’s own, night crept darkly across the sky like ink in water. Fall was near. The air had an edge, and the soft moonlight bounced back sharply from the tops of finely waxed automobiles. Because the performance was Russian Choral Music and not John Phillips Sousa, I restrained my applause, but tried to mean it more. With some reluctance, the audience drifted out of the building and occupied one another with tones as crisp and sophisticated as the sounds of expensive shoes on a marble floor. I’m a sensitive man and at times emotional. I believe that what happened next was due in part to the residual pulse of the music through my mind, but also because on the front steps of the concert hall I saw my mortal enemy. Perhaps, I could have left him in peace if he had not provoked me with his smug grin. After having listened to beautiful resilient and tragic music, it seemed in particularly poor taste for him to simper like an imbecile. I saw it not only as an insult to myself, but also to the Russian people, and I was not about to let it stand.

“Why?” I asked him.
My voice was choked with rage, and I think that he mistook my question for a greeting.
“Zachary, it’s been ages,” he said as though he didn’t know what was about to happen.
“Why?” I said again, more distinctly.
“Why what?” he asked as though he were unclear.
“Why are you smiling like that?” I asked.
“I like to smile Zach, what of it?”
Blood rushed to my face, and my eyes began to water.
“In fact,” he continued. “It’s good to see you, because you make me smile.” Then he patted me on the back. For all his faults, I could not accuse the man of being a coward. He was baldly antagonizing me on the steps of the concert hall.
“I make you smile?”
“Yes,” he said. “Always good for a laugh.”
His condescending air was unmistakable and from my lungs came a primal yell. I dove at him knocking him down. We rolled down a few steps and a woman screamed.
“What in Blazes!” shouted my adversary. A pink scrape on his forehead blossomed into a deep red. Undeterred, I dug my fingers into his ribs.
“Good for a laugh, am I?” I screamed. I began to tickle him like a man possessed. All through college I worked in an egg salad plant opening and dumping gigantic jars of relish into a large vat. My hands are enormously strong and they did not fail me now. My foe began to laugh wildly. He bucked and writhed in pain. The crowd was too astonished to react.
“STOP!” he screamed.
“Remember Junior high,” I growled.
“Please! Stop!” He gasped for air.
“Remember it!”
He grasped at my hands, but I was stronger by far.
“You and your friends threw me outside—” His elbow caught me in the throat. I dug my fingers deeper into his ribs.
“You threw me outside the locker room naked!”
“Please! It was years ago.” Hyena-like screams split the air.
“You locked the door,” I yelled.
His hands were on my throat. He tried to squeeze, but his strength was gone.
“The entire girl’s lacross team was outside! Why would you do that?”
“Please! I’m sorry!”
The pungent acidic smell of urine cut the air. He had wet himself.
I stood up.
“You know me Arthur,” I said. “Always good for a laugh.”
I left him there on the steps in a puddle of his own urine, and walked to my car. I knew how he felt, for I had been there years earlier—naked, hiding behind the bleachers, and praying, amidst the sound of girls laughing, that the world might explode. But that was over now. I finally I had my dignity back.

I twisted the key in the ignition, placed a Russian Choral CD in the player, and rolled down the windows. The music expanded out of the car into the night, drenching the world in grandeur and justice.

One Response to “”

jonkopp comments:
Tuesday, August 21st, 2007

whoa.

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