pain
We were talking about "skins" which is the Palmetto, FL slang for slapping, thumping, or popping your bros for a variety of real and perceived transgressions. Slimy, bonked, and already in a general realm of pain and suffering, I stood inert as S'quatch demonstrated a few of the "oldies but goodies" from his high school days. A bunch of grown men revisiting their violent high school practices might have signaled a red flag, but I was too worn out to care. Besides, this is Sasquatch, bosom buddy, who carries ill will towards no one. I'm still not sure what the intended "skin" was he was demonstrating, but it did not go as planned. Somehow he hooked a finger beneath my jaw bone and snapped my teeth like Flea plucking the bass.
Last week, while out of town, I cracked a tooth on a stone in some black beans (Do you really risne and sort them every time?) It has caused me some pain, but in general I'm fine, just waiting for this week's dentist appointment to assess the situation.
Of course, S'quatch did not know this.
My teeth clapped together like a rat trap, and a choir of demons immediately launched into an aria of pain. My vision closed to a dark circle, surrounded by a blinding white light. At the end of the tunnel, oddly reminiscent of a gun barrel, stood S'quatch with his back to me, unawares.
My reptilian brain, base and conniving, rifled through the options. I could tackle him. I would catch him off guard, wrest him to the ground, pin his shoulders beneath my knees and then.. then.. well I thought of some options. We don't call him Sasquatch for nothing. The man is large. He would easily tower over Magnus Backstedt, and you know, Magnus is BIG. Trying to save me, and itself, my frontal lobe injected an image of S'quatch at the gym, pounding the punching dummy with thunderous right hooks that start somewhere across the international date line. OK, there's that, but PAIN will not be denied. Take him! Now, while his back is turned! Get him!
A voice came from my mouth, "I'm having an irrational response to pain, stay away from me." Surprised and confused, he immediately moved towards me in a sympathetic gesture.
Now! screamed pain, Tackle him NOW!
Puzzled, and probably a little dismayed at the filth coming from my mouth in his direction, he turned away.
Crush him! Revenge! Revenge! Revenge!
My arm came up. I tried to will it down, but the water bottle was in flight. No big deal, it wasn't a brick or anything, but it was an escalation in a now absurd scenario. The rest of the gang was caught so flat-footed they were still trying to understand what, if anything, S'quatch had done.
The bottle caught him low around the kidney, and I thought, "Ah shit, now you've done it." The angry italicized voice subsided. I began to consider "Flight" over "Fight" for the first time.
Like Bruce Banner apologizing for turning into the Hulk, while he is in transformation, I stuttered out, "I'm s-s-s-orry, you !#$&! I'll be fine in a second you ***!!#$, hurt tooth-much pain--%$%&*(%@!
So, if you learn nothing else here at the Big Ring Circus, learn this-
Rinse and sort the black beans every single time.
3 comments:
A little physical release turns the trick every time. And if you're lucky, it doesn't bring the flashing lights into your driveway or a right jab to the jaw. I don't think the direct hit with the bottle even registered on the amiable beast. Get that tooth looked at.
I don't want them to look at it. I want them to pull it out with the vice grips. Perhaps Sasquatch would like to volunteer to finish the job?
oops, freudian slip, I mean vise grips.
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