I was making a right at the 7-Eleven. It was still sunny out, so I had both windows rolled down. I was in a good mood, headed to Trader Joe’s to (finally) pick up some olive oil, eggs, and milk so we could (finally) get back to having a normal breakfast.
There wasn’t a light at the corner, but I was stopped anyway because a teenager with one of those mop-head haircuts was just stepping off the curb, head down, looking at his phone. His pace was extremely slow, like well below the level of sauntering.
I was there long enough to acquire 3 cars behind me, also looking to turn, as well as a third car trying to make a left from the other direction up that same hill, stuck in the purgatory of the intersection.
The boy missed it all. He only looked up when he got to the other side of the road., off to my right. He saw me looking at him.
I wasn’t pissed; just feeling cosmically wronged and in need of a little acknowledgment.
“C’mon, dude,” I said, both palms up, shoulders shrugged.
But I didn’t get what I wanted.
“Hey, fuck you,” he said, with a real hard look. And then went back to his phone.
I was already traveling up the hill so’s not to cosmically wrong the people behind me, but man did I want to beat the shit out of that kid.
I pictured driving my car into him
Knocking him out of his slacker shoes
Cracking him in the nose with my fist, his mop-hair flying up.
No wait, I’d kick him in the balls first, then punch him in the nose.
Okay, maybe I’ll just turn around, track him down, pull up on the curb, and tell him to fuck off.
Would I get out of the car, or do it from inside the car?
It went like this, all the way up the hill.
My body was tense, my mind no longer on eggs and milk, but now on ass-kicking and clever comebacks.
That little fucker, bumming my trip.
It happens a lot, don’t it?
The outside world not lining up with your inside world.
Getting wronged in a way that sticks with you, that stays in you.
Where the fuck is karma? How long does it take to arrive? And who really cares if it arrives if I can’t watch it do its thing all over that kid’s face.
But, then I crested the hill, and was coming back down.
A metaphor?
I made the decision to let it go.
Not easy, seeing as that boy deserved an ass-whipping, I mean, like the whole world deserved to have me kick that kid’s ass.
There I go again. It’s a process. But I found my way out.
You know what I thought of to help me let it go?
Us.
The good people who want things to be good. The adults in the room. The folks who have lived long enough to know that more anger and more hatred don’t do a goddamn thing. For anyone.
Don’t get me wrong.
Getting mad is important, I’d even say essential.
But holding anger is hurtful to the holder, like trapping a wasp in cupped hands.
So, I thought of us, and that helped.
Then I thought of him again, going back to his mop-head friends and doing mop-head things for a few years, going around and fucking up the cosmos, making karma work double shifts, and maybe eventually sorta who-knows hopefully probably coming around someday and stepping out of that small circle into the bigger one….
where we all stand, when we finally come to realize that we need more good things in the world than bad, that the balance of it all is up to us, individually, together making hard decisions to not squash the wasp.
A lot to think about on the way to the grocery store, but I’m glad I did, because when I got there, all those people looking for milk and eggs weren’t in my way. They were there with me, like me, (finally) taking the time to tend to their needs.
I waited patiently for a man to pick out his milk. He grabbed the whole milk, then went for the 2%.
“Sorry,” he said.
“No worries,” I replied, much happier than either of us expected.