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Show 57 punch him, then wait. Finally, he tries to hit me in the side of the head. I block it with my left hand and kick him in the stomach. The kick surprises him and he leans over a little bit. He tries to retaliate with a kick near my hip, but it bounces off and seems to hurt him more than me, as though I am not water but the fire. He is short of breath. This is it. I punch him in the mouth as fast as I can. Then I try another kick. I'm out of form now, just swinging. I throw a fist for every huge house on the mountain and I throw them as fast I want to get out of my beige and undemanding life forever. I am not strong but I am thorough. Someone pulls me off. Everyone gathers around Lane and looks at me. They ask, What the fuck, dude? But I don't even rum back to see the damage. I just walkout of the park and all the way home. It's a Saturday evening in August, sunlight down to its last traces, orange behind the mountains, well prepared cars starting to switch on their headlights. Dan and Kylie are already in Salt Lake, so I borrow my mom's white Astro van and say I have to work until midnight at the grocery store tonight, and she says just bring it back as soon as you can. I feel a little bit of ambivalence around the freeway entrance about lying to her, and I remember that I'll have to wake up in the morning in order to join her and the rest of my family for church. But instead of turning around I turn up the music and pound my palms on the steering wheel all forty-five miles north to Salt Lake City. I take the 600 South exit off of 1-15 and meet up with Dan and Kylie at a vegetarian restaurant near the club. |
