I knew someone a long time ago that would always laugh at the strangest times. She laughed when I told her my buddy was killed in a car accident. She laughed when her mother died. I thought she was one uncaring mother ****er. I learned from her that those were the times when she was in the most pain. I still don't understand that behavior but I now know that people handle stress and pain in many different ways, despite what the standard practice is thought to be.
You kinda miss the point.....
It's not that my reaction was "inappropriate." Some might characterize it as "no reaction at all."
At the police station, after I got cleaned up-one eye was glued shut with the other guy's dried blood-all I really cared about was that it was 4 a.m., and I was hungry.
I was alive. The other guy was dead, and while I certainly hadn't left home planning on killing a 17 year old kid, I certainly wasn't about to be killed by one., and I was alive, and
hungry.
That was, at that point, all I really cared about. I never gave that kid a second thought. In the intervening years, if I've had nightmares about the incident: they're always of me being stabbed, instead of me stabbing him, and I can't remember the last time I had that particular dream at all.....not since my daughter was born in 1986, I think....maybe a little later.
Mostly, I don't care. If I think about it....well, I think I
liked it, but that's one of the things I'm not supposed to say. Why wouldn't I like it? He's dead, and
I'm alive. I should wish for the alternative?
Or be quiet. It's best to be quiet-and certainly don't laugh at anything (never mind laugh at
everything, the way I do....:lfao:....) better to let the world think that I'm heartsick and damaged from what was a really, really good day, rather than let them think for a moment that I think of it as a really, really good day-where I went on breathing, and pizza never tasted finer, and I was never more glad to see my father, or sleep between the clean sheets on my bed.....better to let most people think that I recognize my "pariah" status: I've killed, and nothing will ever taste good again, nothing will ever feel good again, and certainly, nothing will ever be funny again, because,
dammit, taking life is serious business, and it's all I'm supposed to think about for the rest of my life.
Get it? Probably not.....that's okay, really. It's a hell of a thing to find out about yourself, at 20 odd years of age, and hard to articulate to anyone else. Pray you never understand, lest you have to come up with "pat" answers yourself.
I deeply regret what happened on the subway platform that morning. That was someone's baby, once..... all in all, I'd really much rather that I'd gone to have breakfast with those chicks from Manhattan, rather than trying to get to the last train home......
really....but, all told, I'm
really, really, REALLY glad I got to go home-whatever it took.
I should cry for some kid who was gonna cut me down so he could be in a gang? I don't think so. I should lose sleep over it? Not likely.
I should admit that I liked the way it felt when I stabbed him with my pen-that I enjoyed watching whatever was going on behind those eyes go away, even as his blood spurted onto my face? That it was all I could do
not to laugh at his pathetic last words,
What did you do that for? That there was no stress, nor pain for me to handle?
Well, how does that last bit make you feel, Tames? It doesn't bother me at all, really-I've lived with it for more than 30 years, now, and gotten quite used to it. However you feel, just be glad that I haven't killed anyone else, just to feel like I did that morning.....and no, that's not a joke at all.....
If I'd wound up in court, though, I'd have had the good sense and self-composure
not to laugh, because that's what people expect.....