Archive for abuse

Don’t Forget, Boy

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 11, 2013 by JC

Tuck stopped. The hills rolled with no end in sight before and behind him. He’d been moving twelve hours and now the sun was about down. He didn’t care. He’d wittingly gone a path he couldn’t replicate and tried his best to ignore the sun all the way. He struggled to forget the date. How old am I? I know but no matter. To be free was to be lost now.

He was unfettered,  scrapped by the foreman–the formidable foreman who always stopped for  who? what? where? when? why? how?–hours ago. The only thing was: what now? Immediately, that is.  He was tired, but restless. His brain buzzed bzz bzz like the caricature of a dying television and his body promised “I’ll give out shortly!” in its ineffable ways. He naturally sat down Indian style in a trough between two crests and fished for an apple. Even a timeless man acts like he wants to live.

No apples left. Jerky–dried, salted umami–did fine.

First reading lesson at age four, out on the creaking-eeking porch: couldn’t make sense of the symbols on the page but he saw their beauty and wanted to know the rest. Grandpa lowly rumbled as he moved his finger across the page. “The fox, f-o-x, jumped over the fence.” said it, sung it,  tapped it with gravity. He picked it up quickly and deeply, and respected it because he respected beauty and he respected grandpa. Ma and pa were proud. Grandpa was so proud of and confident in the boy he fantasized about beating the hell out of him for it. He reckoned Tuck would take it at first like a child, ow ah stop, and then like a stone, a silent, stoic stone who knew what happened was right and reasonable. The boy was ready for a real education, having mastered letters. But the old man never really thrashed him. Ma and pa wouldn’t have sanctioned it.

Grandpa respected people insofar as they could handle the vicissitudes, the abuses of life. Must have been that frequent ah shit, that “Ohp, no corn this year; weather didn’t allow,” that kept him on the balls of his ass, his life. A lifetime of manual labor had rendered the elder’s hands raw at first and then rugged. Love, loss, and onward was just callous following abrasion. Hardening by abuse—life’s flames looming, swarming, testing, burning the fat, moving on—was tried-and-true; he suspected his son’s tender approach, flame retarding in his view, would foment nothing to write home about. Nonetheless, he respected his son and daughter-in-law for going through life and resumed a semblance of the parenting they’d started. He knew Tuck would encounter abuse organically but, sensing the boy’s precocity, grandpa yearned to share what he knew without delay so they could be men together; he didn’t have much time left, he thought, and he wanted to know this man. Restraint here, holding those hands back, would be the last iteration of grandpa’s method.

Dried, dead, nourishing flesh reminded Tuck that at seven death called when the farm’s failure was imminent; accustomed to multi-day fasts, he knew too well the processes wasting him now. Grandpa told him “Don’t waste this and don’t forget this.”  Tuck reluctantly internalized the old man’s old sentiment. His next meal was his best up to then. It was like that.

Still dully hungry, Tuck wrapped the leftovers in the tattered cloth grandpa had left for him and put it away. Seated still, he straightened his back and closed his eyes. The aural buzz, the bodily crying, softened and then stopped, along with his hunger.

He went on, stuffed with wisdom and just enough just-fine jerky.


Don’t be Her Trusty, Dusty Male Friend

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , on October 11, 2012 by JC

It’s funny when a guy disappears from a certain kind of woman’s mind for a while and then as soon as she’s got relationship issues she’s happy to dump them on him. She’s good at strategic manipulation in relationships; she’ll be able to explain the absence away and make him feel like he’s the most important guy in her life, because for that moment, he really is. However, she doesn’t see him that way. She sees him as a stepping stone to understanding and manipulating whoever’s getting her properly. She sees him as a means of validating her hysteria, desperation, and if she’s lucky, attractiveness.

If he’s the right guy for the job, he’ll say “I understand what you’re going through and I would be acting differently if I were him—he’s wrong, you’re right.” Furthermore, there’ll be some sign that he’s interested in her sexually, but not just sexually. He’s willing to share his most precious resource with her—his time—when it’s most costly to do so. He thinks he’s making an investment in the future, and he might be. If she’s mildly attracted to him, she might be able to convince herself that something romantic can happen between them, something passionate. But what’ll always be absent is respect, because while they don’t always seem it, women are rational, and no one can really respect a man who carries someone else’s emotional burdens when he could be developing himself into the man he wants to be and women want to be with independently of their past or current romantic experience.

Even if they end up knocking boots immediately, she’ll regret it and be in an even tougher spot with her boyfriend. Suppose the sex with her supportive friend isn’t a slam dunk the first time—she’ll really regret it and run back to her boyfriend because let’s face it: if the sex AND the relationship were bad, she’d just leave. Then friendy will be shit out of luck because she already had no respect for him as a man and now she doesn’t think of him as one at all. He’s effectively her gay buddy without the panache that usually goes along with it. Also, do you think she’d support him if he were having trouble? Hell no! She’d be too busy trying to maintain relations with the quality mate she already has.

Now let’s suppose the sex goes really well. Then she’ll still recognize that she’s in a relationship and have trouble ending it! She doesn’t want to look like the bad guy in the end and she also doesn’t want to lie to her boyfriend. So, her emotional attachment to him will drive her to sympathy and she’ll think of him as a victim who deserves her love and whose love she doesn’t deserve, so now her mission is to earn back the right to be loved. Will she tell him? Not directly. Will she come back to you, assuming you’re her trusty doormat friend with superior sexual prowess? Yeah, you might get it on a few more times. But what will come of it in the end? You’ll look like a sociopath to her because the act was sociopathic and she doesn’t want to self-examine, and she’s now conditioned to play nice with her boyfriend and look for guys who can give it to her like a man. She’ll want a blank slate because what happened between the two of you shouldn’t have. Y’all won’t have that, because you started as friends and started fucking while she was with someone else, and then you’ll just be the guy who made her realize that her relationship is fucked up and destined to be abusive but also that she wants to stay long enough to find something better, something that saves her from the treatment she gets after she tells her boyfriend something happened without explicitly telling him.

She might call you again. If you’re smart, you’ll raise your middle finger to the phone and push that toxic cunt out of your mind for good.