Moment of Anger

This is part of the series, Parables for the Spiritual but not Religious. Warning: Contains coarse street language.

Okay, I was angry. Really angry. I admit it. I had a right to be. It was the only way I could deal with this. Deal with the unfairness. The brutality. 

The police never gave him a chance. We could all see it. And they didn’t care that we could see it. Because they know how the system works. If you aren’t one of them, you are one of us. And we don’t count for shit. So what’s one more of us beaten, murdered. He wasn’t the first. And for damn sure, he won’t be the last. We can go complain all we want. A fat lot of good that will do

They just watched him. He was begging for breath. For a drink of water. They laughed. They said, where you’re going, you don’t need to breathe. We couldn’t do a thing. They wouldn’t let us near him. 

We all knew he hadn’t done anything. We were just hanging out, like we always did. Laughing, having some wine. And before we knew it, we were surrounded. They had dogs. They had tear gas. Which one of you ass-holes is in charge? They grabbed him and started beating him. They knew who he was. They were looking for him.

We tried to explain. We weren’t doing anything. We were just talking. They laughed. Yea, you weren’t doing anything. We know who you are. We know what you are. And we know exactly who the hell he is. 

He didn’t even resist. He let them beat him. That pissed me off even more. He could have at least put up a fight. 

If he wouldn’t fight, I would. I reached into the sheath I wore around my ankle and pulled out a 6 inch blade. Maybe I couldn’t save him. Maybe I couldn’t even save myself. But I could damn well take a few of those bastards down with me. 

Then she gave me that look and touched my arm. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. It was that look and that touch. It said, have you forgotten? Have you forgotten already?

I had forgotten. I was angry, and my anger protected me from the pain. But her touch brought it back to me. His last words. They didn’t make much sense then. I figured it was just the wine messing with his head. 

He had said, “I am leaving soon. You can’t come. But if you remember anything I said, remember this. Love one another. Love everybody. Just like I have loved you.” Mary had gotten it, and now I was maybe getting it too.

I dropped the knife. Mary nodded. I could see him smiling at me, even as they dragged him away.

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Spiritual questions:

• How does anger feel?
• How does letting go of anger feel?
• Which do you prefer?

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This is one of my Parables for the Spiritual but not Religious Series.

August 6, 2020 - This was written with the Roundhouse Writing Group in Santa Cruz, Guatemala, remotely from Guanajuato, Mexico. The writing prompt for the session was: Maybe anger offers protection.

The photograph is by Gregoriuz and made available through Flickr and Creative Commons, some rights may be reserved.

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