Bastard of the Beasts
2005-09-24 10:05 a.m.
I�m awoken by a call from DM. She was my first actual girlfriend, and the only white girl I�d ever been with worth mentioning. I hadn�t realized how much of our relationship I�d forgotten. I was under the impression that we�d been together for a few weeks for whatever reason and it turns out it was more like 4 or 5 months. In our 5 hour conversation she proceeded to remind me of how close we actually became.Unfortunately back then I was in a strange transitional phase. I was converting from being consistently surrounded by incredibly bad elements to being surrounded by retarded rich kids in a highly regarded prep school. With her I was noted as the freshman dating the senior class track star.
I was always pretty oblivious to the stories that went around about me. Mostly because people were too fucking scared to confront me with them. But DM made sure to point out the kind of living hell it made for her. Long after we�d split up, at that, as she was still catching wind of shit 2 years into college.
She was the first person to get through to me on September 12th �01, and she was the only one to recognize that I wasn�t quite right. I knew I was in the early stages of a downward spiral, and I knew that her recognition of such things was not a good thing. Though I should have been committed, I wasn�t ready to allow the world to think so. I�d cut off our communication soon after and we haven�t talked since then.
I found myself apologizing throughout the conversation in my lack of recollection of many moments we�d shared.
When we were together, my mom and I were still staying in my grandparent�s basement since my mom was back in school and we couldn�t afford to stay anywhere else. A couple times when she�d come over my grandfather kicked her out, abusively (verbally). You must understand such a thing wasn�t to be taken lightly. He was a scary fucker with one of those voice boxes. Ever heard someone yell with a voice box? I have all too much, but I expect an unexpecting soul to become unnerved by it. He�d been a contractor for some 40 years, so he was big and rough looking, so his entire presence, especially in anger, was daunting to say the least.
She made it clear that she was still a virgin back then regardless of what her reputation stated. I made it clear that I was as well. I think things would have worked out differently then had we both known this. Doesn�t matter much now, just gives perspective on how things moved along in one�s past as well as the effect of our respective reputations.
The poor girl was never able to get through to me, though. I was an emotional brick wall. On April 18th, 1993, she invited me out for an evening of debauchery with her silly ass friends. She made it clear that it was gonna be �the night�. I had no time for her bullshit. My virginity mattered a hell of a lot less than the first anniversary of the shooting death of my first and only brother and mentor in the world. The man who helped me understand what being a man was long before I�d ever become one. I didn�t tell her what was bothering me. I�d eventually conceded to coming out on the condition that she�d buy me a bottle of Jack and leave me the fuck alone.
And so I got smashed, to the point of having no place in public. I don�t remember that night. Maybe some flashes of me sitting somewhere or other, fist of a fifth, giving a very hard look to any of the silly fuckers that passed by. I was damned near tears but solid as stone. She helped me to her van and took me to her place. I don�t remember much of that part of the night either, except for a moment.
I believe she had Chicago�s greatest hits playing. She stood me at the foot of her bed and removed my shirt, awkwardly, as I refused to put the bottle down. I took the backwash swig from the fifth. She took her shirt off, which woke me from my self-pity for a moment. It was the first time I was given full access to a woman. I was in no condition to take advantage of such a gift, but I did take the moment to appreciate it. I stood, drunkenly slouched and stared in awe. At least for that moment, she was the most beautiful woman in the world. She leaned in to kiss me and I pushed her off. Tonight was not the night.
The next morning I passed her brother on my way out. Her brother was in my class. He stared in confused awe as I left. He never spoke to me again after that. I would have whooped my ass.
By the end of the conversation she offered to fly me out for the weekend, citing �unfinished business�. Well, as interesting as that might sound to my single ears, I wasn�t having it. I joked of a similar interest but offered dinner instead for when I get out there, which should be next weekend.
After our call, I thought about her many tales of the horrible rumors and stories about me that seemed to follow her around for some reason, and so I gather followed everyone close to me.
I began thinking about beasts and men�
While an old friend visited me in NY a couple years ago, he was trying to tell me why he�d once been scared of me. A strange conversation indeed, but not rare. He asked a spectacular question. Who�s worse, the beast or the bastard the beast confides in? His vote was for the confidant.
He was right for his accusation. He�d done some very bad things when we were younger and he�d come to me because I�d never judge him. I�d talk to him as an equal regardless of how fucked up the world saw him. I encouraged him. I fed the beast. I had a purpose in doing so, guided by the friend and brother I�d mentioned earlier. Feed the beast and allow it to grow tired on its own lest it grow too hungry and devour the man entirely.
Once his beast subsided, he avoided me in fear that I would encourage the beast more for my own delight or worse accept him just as well in his reform� Why he thought I would encourage him is odd to me, but again� not rare.
I was never really a bad person, I was merely a good person in the midst of questionable characters. Strangely enough most of them had their judgments of me. They didn�t fuck with me because I wasn�t to be fucked with. Not because I was a bad mothafucker of some sorts. Not because my revenge would reign upon them in some sort of terrible and unthinkable way. Rather because the revenge would be subtle and untraceable. A judgment far more painful and correct than any other.
One finds strange company and situation when one keeps the company of monsters. If you accept the company of the greedy, you find yourself surrounded by mistrust and piles of materials or money that just plain seem absurd. If you accept the company of a shooter, you eventually find yourself next to a man holding his weapon of choice to the face of someone else. Or with their weapon of choice in your collective faces. You accept these situations as your own, just as you accept these people as your brethren.
And the company I held kept those with little substance of their own scuttling about with their crazy stories of my terrible deeds and debauchery. Sure, some was true to life but generally devoid of context. In school I was noted as a sexual beast of sorts, fucking one after the other. Little was it known I�d only been with one woman in that way throughout.
But it wasn�t just in school. As I began throwing city-wide parties, I�d been followed by a remarkable and incredible reputation throughout the city. Everywhere I turned I received some strange silent respect for stories and conquests I knew nothing about. I ignored it all fairly well, but the unfortunate souls who�d loved me had to constantly endure 3rd and 4th and 5th party tales of treachery and deceit.
I tried to escape it all by changing settings. I went from the party and drug scene to the corporate world. But as long as I was in my city, my story followed.
And now I look around, surrounded by men that know nothing of such beasts. Men that grew up in the world I�d dreamed about for so long. Men who take for granted their ability to pass judgment on people they�ll never truly know or understand. I can�t wait �til N gets here.