Originally posted on June 4, 2008
While the Chauny
Opinion Poll continues to plummet, I'll add another pitiful instance to
the list. Embarrassingly I
admit, this past Saturday, I got into an old fashioned fist fight. Yeah, you
read that right. The fight was two against five. The five
included two guys-but one of the guys just pushed me a few times (I use the
word "guys" loosely here). Unfortunately, I was one of the two, in case you
hadn't already guessed that. Don't worry though, we kicked their
butts! Good usually prevails over Evil (eventually), no matter how
outnumbered they are. Though I have to
give major props to the one (big, buff) brotha that pulled the guy off of
my fight partner. My
fight partner was throwing and landing powerful punches as accurately as me.
He [the one guy
that came to our defense] actually knew most of the clan and had apologized
for them earlier (they had been trying to instigate a fight with us since
earlier that night). After the bar brawl, he'd even offered us some of their
names and numbers in case we wanted to file charges against them. So, I guess it
was more like two and half against five. I can't divulge all of the gory
details because this story isn't just mine to tell. I can tell you that aside
from my two superficial face scratches (they all fought like
bitches), a tiny bruise on my elbow and four broken nails from my
tightly clinched fists, the only thing that truly hurt that night, was my
feelings. Not by the
ghetto gang that started the street brawl but by the insane
lack of support after the fact, from a new 'cosmically-connected'
friend I really wanted to know better and another old, trusted friend I dare not
identify (the old, trusted friend has since apologized though).
Thankfully, my mommy was there to listen to me vent after I made it home that
night. I told her the story with excited vigor, complete with realistic
reenactments. But before making it home that night, not 10 minutes after the
fight, I called this cosmically-connected "friend" I wrote of earlier.
I was so excited
from the ridiculously massive adrenaline rush, I couldn't get all the [minor]
details straight. So, in the middle of my adrenaline-powered story, he
interrupts me repeatedly with a bunch of sarcastic questions and facetious
clap-trap. I was so angry that when some of the adrenaline wore off later that
night/morning, I told him not to contact me anymore. I meant it at the
time but a bigger part of me wanted him to just say, "I'm sorry it
didn't seem like I cared. I do and I'm really only concerned about you
being okay. Are you okay?", so we could go back to where we were [before
the brawl]. The next day, I even sent him an e-mail, in an effort to get from
him what I didn't get before. But alas, it was not to be. He accused me of being
drunk (which I wasn't) and just talked about how I 'went off' on him when
he corrected me...during MY fist fight
story...a fist fight story in which I was personally,
physically and drastically outnumbered. I'm thinking 'Your
feelings are hurt? Are you kidding me?' Oh Brother!
Admittedly, he was
just a friend but I really liked him. We (he & I) seemed to be pleasantly
alike and appreciatively different in ways that seemed to suggest our
friendship would be a long one. For whatever reason, I needed something from him
that he just couldn't deliver, a sympathetic ear. It was painfully obvious that
he'd never had a fist fight and if he had, he probably lost...horribly.
Or, he just didn't
like me that much in the first place and we weren't cosmically-connected
at all. But I guess
this entry isn't really about him, it's about me knowing who I am, as
flawed as I may be. After this experience, I know I'm still my Daddy's Daughter
and unless you have a weapon, you can't hit either of us hard enough to make
difference when we're mad. I know that I'm not above street brawling, even well
into my 30s. I know that I can still punch like [the old] Mike Tyson. I know
that I live a very interesting life and it gets more interesting
as I get older. But most importantly, I know who my real friends are. I'm
starting to tell my friends little by little of Saturday night's
event-they listen in stunned disbelief but seem to sincerely care about my well
being. I'd only told a couple of people initially because frankly, it wasn't my
finest hour. I'm not
really proud of stooping to the level of ghetto heathens but I'm
human. Humans make mistakes, sometimes really bad and irreversible ones. I'm
still a little hurt that my full support system wasn't as strong as I
thought it was but I know deep down that I have the right people backing me. I
guess I just chose the wrong person to call that night. I also know that as
emotionally (and physically) risky as it is to let some people into your
tight-knit social circle, sometimes it's worth it, I'm smart enough to
realize that. See? I just learned something else; I have brains and brawn
(beauty is in the eye of the beholder). You know, I'm
still amazed when people tell me that they've never had a fist fight,
especially since I've had so many. Yesterday when a friend told me he hadn't
ever had a fist fight, after my telling him what happened Saturday, I jokingly
replied to him; "I guess I just have the kind
of face people want to punch." Sadly, that might actually be true
and yet another important detail/lesson I just learned about myself. That
freakin' list just keeps getting painfully long. God help me.
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