Corrupt City of My Heart
Corrupt city of my heart
I can’t stop loving you
even
if it kills me.
My first John Wayne movie informed me of one thing: I
was living in a place tougher than that old bastard could ever hope to handle.
And I could never survive if I incorporated his defeatist values into my life.
Fantasies like a fair fight belonged on television but don’t take them to the
school yard. The last bully I had to take out was 75 lbs. heavier than me and
no amount of chinese diplomacy was going to make a dent in his iron head. I
struck first and threw his big body down a flight of metal stairs at school.
And as I pretended to check on his well-being I warned him next time if will be
his neck that was broken. That’s how you deal with a dangerous bully in the big
city. No bullshit boxing. No old west romance.
You and your friends are safe with a pair of num-chuks
neatly tucked in the back of the pants. I once had to crack a guy over the head
who thought he was going to rob me in the subway. He begged me not to throw him
on the train tracks. I snarled at him “I wasn’t even thinking of that!” and
quickly hit him over the head again and then the train arrived. In psychology
that’s called projection. Yet I was raised better than that. Nobody’s going to
die. But somebody’s going to bleed. With my luck, usually on my new shirt. It can be frustrating.
Helping the community is a way to give back to those
whom deserve our respect. Any knucklehead can smack a few bums to clean out the
park at night. I’ve done my share. But it takes a solid citizen to volunteer at
the senior center. To play checkers with the old guys. To help the ladies in
the garden. To show you’re more than some neighborhood tough with a decent
grade average. (Mine’s probably better than yours.) Into the early evening I
walk one lady home arm in arm. She enjoys telling me about her husband who died
in the war. She never remarried. He was the light of her life. I open the front
door and make sure all is safe. In the morning, I leave her a paper and a loaf
of Italian bread before I go to school.
I’m forever worried something’s going to happen to that woman. She’s a
gentle reminder of that nobility is all about even in this corrupt city that
lives to see you die.
Mark Antony Rossi
Tags:
Short Fiction
Cities are rough landscapes that scar the psyche.
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