Quiet Confession

It was a quiet day. A day where the whole family does their own relaxed thing. A quiet Saturday maybe, like one of those days after returning from a long car ride. Although, I don’t know if we had returned from a long ride the previous day or not. Nonetheless, we all, Mom, Dad, my two sisters, and I, stayed confined to our quarters for most of the day.

I remember lying there writing in my journal about masculinity, and how feminism had attempted to destroy the masculine male. How masculinity had been turned into a negative thing, a problem that should be treated. Strength is only violent, unworthy and unnecessary. Feelings and emotions are what matter. And we can all agree on some basic human rights, can’t we? And then guided by our feelings for our fellow human beings, we can solve all the problems in the world. I don’t know how much of all that I was actually thinking, but you get the idea.
I knew I’d grow facial hair for the plain reason that women cannot. And that doesn’t matter, but who cares because I wasn't thinking any of that.

I was sure I would see the end of the world while I was still a kid. Well, I guess that didn’t happen. But back then, I’d been drilled with so much apocalyptic theater chatter, that I expected it nearly everyday as a boy in my parents’ home.

On that quiet day, when we were all confined to our quiet places, doing our quiet things, I fell asleep on my back with my journal across my chest and a blue pen in my hand. I turned once and switched out my lamp and changed positions. I stirred an hour later to the sound of thunder but did not wake. A storm rolled in and darkened the sky and hushed the breeze. All the elements were ripe for an encounter.

I dreamt I was deceived by a familiar old guy. In his garage, he had trick handcuffs and demonstrated for me how to escape the trick cuffs. He did it a couple times; a simple rough clockwise twist with both wrists granted freedom. He did it behind his back to prove he could. He asked if I could do it, and I did in front of him. He asked if I could do it with my hands behind my back. I turned my back to him. He switched the cuffs for real ones. I think I knew instantly, in my dream anyway, that the cuffs were changed. I remember the ratcheting rapid clicks had more meter to them, and the squeeze on my wrists was a bit more deliberate than previously. I gave them the same twist as before, but they didn’t loose. And just as I was calling out with questions and demands, he came out of my peripheral, behind to my left, wielding an aluminum bat. Because I saw him I was able to glance most of the blow to my head and shoulder. It was a fight for my life. I stumbled over debris in the garage. He walked over to me, preparing to strike. I tripped him up with my feet, and then did all that I could with my legs to put him on the ground, and I did. And then I heel beat his face till he quit struggling. Then I crawled through my handcuffed arms to have them in front of me. I used the short few links between each cuff to strangle the would-be killer, until he stopped breathing.

—And then lightning woke me.
I was alone. Not just in my room, but the whole house was vacant, because I checked in sort of a startled-awake adrenaline fit. I immediately thought I had slept through the rapture and my name had not been called. I was not chosen and I didn’t deserve it. I wanted to cry, and I may have. I tried to call a couple friends on the phone, but no one was home, which furthered my assumption that I’d been left to tribulate.

Not long later, Mom and Dad came home with a new TV. They left me sleeping because I looked so peaceful, Mom said.

I never felt foolish about my brief thoughts that day, and it makes sense in my landscape mind today--the complexity of beauty.