Tuesday, 3 July 2012

Romantic love is mental illness. (Fran Lebowitz)

When Liam took the job as security guard all the boys were concerned with how he acquired this position. I proudly told someone, who told everyone. Liam punched me in the face. I had a black eye for a week and a half.

“My name’s Tommy,” my father told Liam when he dropped by the playground the day after I came home in tears with my haggard eye. “I’m Honey’s father.”

Liam gulped and fear slid down his throat with his little hand enclosed in my father’s hand, a hand that has killed a man. I wonder if Liam could feel death in his hand even though he didn’t know what my father had done. Judging by Liam’s face, he could.

“I hear you gave Honey a black eye.”

He shook his head and nodded simultaneously. His mouth hung open. He looked dumb. I wished I had chosen a braver boy.

“Honey is my only daughter and I love her very much. Is there anyone that you love very much? Your mother maybe?”

“I love my mom,” he stuttered.

“How would you feel if someone hurt your mother? I bet you would feel the same way I feel right now. It’s not a very nice feeling, Liam. I don’t think you would like to feel like this so I don’t think you should ever hurt my daughter again.”

Simultaneously, he shook and nodded his head again.

“Honey,” my father called out toward my place at the top of the slide, “can you make sure you let me know if this boy does anything to hurt you again?”

I nodded.

“Anything.”

I nodded.

“If he looks at you the wrong way,” he said to me but was looking at Liam, “I want you to let me know and I’ll make sure he never hurts anyone ever again.”

Liam gulped again.

My father gave me a kiss on the cheek and left. I had street credit in the playground before but after that things changed. Liam’s position as security guard of the slide was up for grabs and all the boys realized that there was a lot of power in the coveted position. The group of kids waiting to be chosen to climb the slide were all calling out for my approval. All the boys wanted to kiss me, a small sacrifice to secure a permanent place of power on the top of the slide. I was an elementary school rock star.

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