Tuesday, October 6, 2015

No Title

This is not my story. It is someone else's story. I didn't live it. I don't re-live it. There that story is, though, whenever there is another story of some fucked-up young male (typically white) who decides to shoot up a school.

It is long ago, long before the media tracked these awful stories. There's a kid. (A kid who happens to be a white male.) He comes into the school, armed with a gun, and takes hostages. This one has a good ending, though, as good as any ending a story can have that begins with some fuck-head coming into a school with a gun.

One by one, he lets the hostages go. My former teacher, a man who befriended me and who, with his wife, welcomed me into their lives and their home, is one of the hostages. He is the second-to-the-last to be let go. He gets to go home to his wife and his baby.

A happy ending.

*****

I have another friend from high school. He's the kind of guy you Fbriend because, you know, you wonder "What ever became of X." He has become a major-league arch-conservative. I do believe that I might be the antithesis of everything that he is. But I don't un-FBriend him.

It's not that I haven't un-FBriended old high school folks, particularly in the last presidential election cycle, when I realized they are so anti-abortion as to have forgotten their own or so religious to have forgotten their own alcohol-fueled slut-to-the-extreme actions of their "youth." Those born-again folks truly are hard to bear.

But this guy. This guy. This guy? I don't un-FBriend. I'm not entirely sure why. Maybe because he is the Ted Nugent that I know. Or "know."

*****

I wonder, when the conservative guy ridicules those folks -- ahem, like me -- who beg for something to be done to stop this violence done in the atmosphere of the imaginary gun control of the land -- if he ever stops to think about that mutual friend of ours. I wonder if he stops -- for even a fucking minute -- to consider that maybe...just fucking maybe...we could do a bit more.

And then I chuckle to myself, like I did just now as I was writing that last convoluted sentence, that, no, he doesn't.

*****

And that, dear friends, is why nothing will ever change. Because I am completely wrong.

No comments:

I Could Use Less Excitement, Too

"So glad you were all able to be here. A little less excitement next time. Love all of you." I received that text from my Mom as...