anger puffs

And then you come in and you're so mad, I'm a doll maybe or a tinkertoy, you're screaming again. You're kicking the furniture and screaming. I'm lying in the corner, watching. But nothing you do seems to have any effect. You're not strong enough to break anything, and you can barely move the chairs and sofas you want to throw around in your extreme rage. You just get madder.

You start going for easier things, things made of glass, and that works; you can throw books at the windows and make them shatter, you can smash the mirror with the paperweight. I could have told you that, just like all the other times and other places it's happened. Why don't you remember? You might as well start with breaking glass because it's the only thing you can affect. It's the only thing you can get any satisfaction out of, and that only for one fleeting moment.

Suddenly you stop, realizing what you're doing. Oh yeah, the moment's ended: You look around, and suddenly everything is back the way it was when you came in. The windows are all perfectly intact, the furniture is perfectly placed, the perfect mirror shows a perfectly grotesque reflection (but that's just you). You turn red and scream scream scream.

I'm laughing now, it's just so funny. Funny-looking little man with a big big temper and you can't do a damn thing. You finally notice me and my laughter just pushes your anger up and up. You grab me, hit me, twist me, break me, and I just laugh. You run outside and throw me into the car, turn it on, and speed down the road, smashing into garbage cans and lampposts that never happened, running over all the nothings that get in your way.

We drive away, out of the city, out of everything, going at least a thousand miles an hour. Years ago you told me about everything, and I was everything. Now I'm just a paperweight, or maybe a doll or a fake Ming vase, all in perfect condition. The exit signs rush past, giving names to places we don't know, but maybe you took some of those exits in the long-forgotten ago. Have you ever smashed a mirror on Lucky Street? Have you ever beat anyone up on Seminary Drive? But there's really nothing left of you to answer.

© 1997-2001 Narciso Jaramillo second person | dyslexikon | nj's face