hobbledehoy

A Fear Of Violence

When I was nine, I got into my first fight. Now let it be known, I hate fighting, it terrifies me. I freeze when threatened, and cower when crowded.

Not only am I terrified of fighting, I am always incapable of defending myself.

I took a little Karate when I was little, but I wimped out after only a month. Plus, I don't think my teacher really knew what he was doing anyway. He though Karate originated in Canada.

"Do you think you could lock up tonight, Hyrum?" Gabe Morris, a worker here in the campus post office, asked me.

"Sure, no problem. Have a good night." I smile slightly at the young man, and he wishes me a good night before stepping out into the chilly evening air.

I was just finishing things up in the mail room, sorting and such.

The sorting room was in the back, so the only way I knew someone had entered the office, is when the small door bell jingled.

"We're closed!" I shouted over my shoulder, setting down a stack of orange packages.

"This will only take a minute, dude!"

Wes? Wes.

I groaned quietly, and was panicking on the inside. I spun around, looking for something, anything; a hat to disguise myself, or a bat to defend myself--but the room was filled with nothing but boxes and letters.

"One minute!" I shout frantically, and pick up the nearest box.

Wes was messing around with the cup of pens and pencils on the front desk, he looked exhausted; like he had already gone to bed, then jumped up because he had forgotten something.

"Oh, Henry! Hi!" Wes grins and reaches out to shake my hand.

I ignore his outstretched hand and say, "What can I do for you?"

"A small package was suppose to be delivered to me yesterday, but it never showed up," Wes explains slowly, "So my best guess is, one of your mail boys screwed up."

I exhale sharply, I was going to handle this maturely. There was no point in getting pissed at him for nothing, the man just wants his mail.

"Well what's in it? And when was it shipped?" I turn on the office computer on, "Also, it'd help a lot if you had the tracking number..."

"Do I look like someone who writes useless shit down?" Wes scowled and pulled out his wallet.

I had a feeling he didn't actually want me to answer that, but how could I have possibly know that?

"Keeping a record of things makes life easier..." I say to him, without looking up from the computer.

"Yeah, sounds like something you'd do, Henry."

Enough is enough. How hard is to remember my name? It's not a complicated name!

"It's Hyrum." I snapped, looking him in the eye with a venomous stare.

"Excuse me?" Wes was indeed, very surprised, his smirk even disappeared.

"My name is Hyrum. Not Henry, not Horace, not Humphrey," I shut the computer off and walked around to the front of the desk, right in Wes Hamilton's face.

"Hey, cool it, dude..." Wes laughed at me but backed off.

"No, I'm sick of you treating me like trash!"

Wes laughed again, but I didn't find anything about this conversation amusing.

"This is about Merlynn, isn't it?" A sly grin spread across his face, and he stopped backing up.

"I don't know what yo--"

"Yes. You're into her! Oh!" Wes threw his hands in the air, then combed through his thin blonde hair.

I didn't reply. But I didn't look away. I sick of looking down, I had nothing to be embarrassed about

"But you see, that's a problem, Hyrum." Wes continued with a snicker, "Because she doesn't even like you, man!"

"That's not true--"

"Hyrum, every night--every single night... She comes onto me like an animal." He tilted his head, "Has she even ever kissed you?"

Like I explained earlier, I hate all forms of violence. But Wes was stirring up a anger so deep inside of me, my fists balled up and my chest rose and fell at a unsteady pace.

"I don't know why you even try, pal... And forget the package, it'll probably arrive tomorrow." He looked almost sorry for me, and his under-tone was laced with sympathy.  And he turned his back to me, to walk away.

But I didn't plan on letting him go so easily. I'm so tired of people walking over me, and leaving me to clean myself up.

So I pushed him. I shoved him as hard as I could, and he went flying into the door--surprising us both.

"Oh ha ha... You shouldn't have done that." Wes cracks both of his knuckles and takes long strides towards me.

"Did I? Honestly it was so long ago, I can hardly remember--"

I had planned on blabbering on, but a large fist connected with the side of my face, and I crumbled to the ground.

Movies lie to us, being punched hurts way more than they make it look. And there was no getting up and fighting back for me, my face felt like it was cracked open.

"You know what Merlynn calls you when we're alone?" He shook his head, "Short stack."

Sure, it was technically a lie. But his face was priceless! Unfortunately it didn't last as long as I had hoped, and he proceeded to kick me in the gut.

Lucky for me, Wes wasn't interested in wasting his time with me. So a couple kicks and a few swears later, he left me alone on the mail room floor.

For some reason, I didn't feel bad though. In ways, I felt better, stronger.

Does fighting do that to you?

I should try it more often.