Diez anos con Jim Thomson (chapter 1)

Chapter (1) Punch in the Lunch

Sometimes the people around us are everyone and no one. They’re the same and unclean. If you look at those who know you best and reflect you like a mirror as good friends do, you’ll see what they see, which is an unclear representation of truth and light mixed with dark blankness. I stopped trying to change everything at about twenty five. I stopped being afraid of the unknown—and I stopped fearing altogether, or at least that’s what I told myself. I learned to tolerate and understand others, rather than oppose them. And my opposition is unexplained, however, there might be, hidden among the characters herein some punchy, unreliable explanation for one man, and maybe a generation. To come to that age-old realization that things are what they are, and that there is a plan interdependent on man, is more real than real—too real. It was this time when I receded back to beliefs that more closely resembled those of my childhood. Securely available for discussion of any matter. Jim wasn’t important to me at the time—a young punk who could play the drums.
This is how I heard it. Greg and Jim were screwing around, fake punching and fighting as boys do. They stood close. Jim stole a squeeze of Greg’s balls, and Greg threw a hook swing at Jim’s head. Jim reacted to block with his hands all at once, in an explosion of extension from shoulder to fingertip. One of Jim’s fingertips landed in Greg’s right eye. Greg wailed, infuriated. His eye was injured, and hung blood blue sore and bruised.
“I’m gonna get you Jim,” Greg said, “when you’re not expecting it. I’m gonna get you good.”
“I’m sorry Greg. It was an accident.” Jim said.
“You grabbing my balls wasn’t an accident,” Greg said.
“I know, but—.”
“If you hadn’t squeezed my balls, none of this would have happened.”
From there they went to the same social gathering, where they both drank and danced with Dionysus in a bottle. Jim was found on a sofa on his side asleep in a room full of loud drunk idiots. Greg saw him and hadn’t forgotten his vow of revenge.
Greg found Mike.
“Do you have your video camera?” Greg said.
“Yes,” Mike said.
“You might want to videotape what I’m going to do to Jim.”
Mike laughed, “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to punch him in the stomach while he’s sleeping.”
I’ve seen the tape and the anticipation is agonizing. Greg lurks over him with a heavy right fist and a sway of gratitude. He didn’t hit him as hard as he could, but every time I see it, it makes me wrench. Jim was so completely numb, that he did not react harshly. He simply curled and moaned for a moment and then rolled to his other side.