So
last night I still went for a night run after running twenty miles
earlier. I was waddling a bit but nothing a little alcohol couldn't
numb. The weather was perfect and streets were full of potential stories
as nightwalkers and street pharmacists went about their
business....literally. I wasn't seeking much of that kind of story so I
trotted on heading to a bar in Gorham st where I planned to drink
a beer and check out the crowd before turning towards downtown. As I
neared the crossing point, a young man was screaming shirtless towards
the road. He had some blood in his face but I chalked it to drunken
falls or some stupid stuff and kept jogging. He had sat down by the
pavement a few yards from the bar cussing loudly and making some noises that's have indicated he was crying too but I couldn't see his eyes. As I
walked by to enter the bar, he asked if I had a cigarette . Right then,
I knew he wasn't too drunk or much of a threat so I told him I would
borrow one from some guys smoking just a few yards away. Instinctively
knowing there was much more to his story, I returned with a lit
cigarette for his convenience. I asked him where his shirt was. His
mother had it he replied. The next question was obvious...where is your
mother? He motioned towards the bar so I knew I was going back there
with him. He explained that his uncle had been spending more time with
his mother and that he had just got into a fight with him over the
issue. His mother had left his father a few months ago and that upset
him. Before I could ask if he lived with them, he told me how unbearable
it was to hear "noises" from their bedroom at night. So why fight at a
bar instead of home? He had no answer for that but the climax of their
passive aggressive stances just played out in full public view. I asked
him how his mother was taking it. He asked what I meant...I wanted to
joke that I knew she was taking it "hard" from the uncle but I meant the
spectacle of their confrontation. Instead he asked if I could buy him a
miller lite. I promised better....a pitcher of pbr!
So in to the bar we went. And just as he described, sitting there was his mother and a very short potbellied black man who is probably in his late 60s or has been partying too hard. I couldn't believe how this man could win a physical battle with a young man in his 20s but if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, you will live your entire life thinking its clumsy i`d find out soon. Soon all four of us were talking. The obvious question was how he was the uncle....it couldn't be blood... based on color but their answers were far confusing than anything I've heard at midnight. Leaving that alone, I asked how the two were doing and why her son was so upset. She started by trying to slap him and nearly slapped me in the process. After I held her up and she regained her balance, she exclaimed that she was very happy and that her son needed to mind his business and life. The "uncle" lifted her spirits. At same moment, he was busy trying to lift her dress driving the message home. That really upset the son who jumped towards the pygmy.
The old guy had the son by his mullet and in almost like a trance state, just span him around and punched at will but never hard enough as id expect from a fight. Realizing the son wasn't getting himself out of this, and perhaps natural compassion kicking in, I pressed my left palm on the old guys face shoving him hard while pointing my finger at the lady to warn her of any ideas of defending her man. Calm resumed as the son sat on the floor. This seemed a joke to everyone except the crying son who seemed to be reeling from years of emotional damage. I was amazed at how a mother could watch their son broken like that and not care. After all I had just spent two hours talking to my mother in a conversation that was always lively and motivating. Through most of my life and work and even relationships, I've mostly disengaged from fights I don't need to be in but watching a young man crumble like yesterdays bacon was a far sad and sorry state. So I decided to be precisely honest with him. This guy will be doing your mother I said...to the chuckle of the mother who planted a kiss on my cheek at about the same time. But that had nothing to do with him and if he didn't like it as id suppose, he should move out and not hang out at bars with his mother. About his uncle, he came from India many years ago and was a martial arts instructor at some point. By how dark he was , I couldn't have guessed. He told me he was "living the American dream" and this young kid was messing it up for him. We all laughed, shared another pitcher after which I broke away and trotted home.
By
Festus Kasyoka Mbuva
So in to the bar we went. And just as he described, sitting there was his mother and a very short potbellied black man who is probably in his late 60s or has been partying too hard. I couldn't believe how this man could win a physical battle with a young man in his 20s but if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, you will live your entire life thinking its clumsy i`d find out soon. Soon all four of us were talking. The obvious question was how he was the uncle....it couldn't be blood... based on color but their answers were far confusing than anything I've heard at midnight. Leaving that alone, I asked how the two were doing and why her son was so upset. She started by trying to slap him and nearly slapped me in the process. After I held her up and she regained her balance, she exclaimed that she was very happy and that her son needed to mind his business and life. The "uncle" lifted her spirits. At same moment, he was busy trying to lift her dress driving the message home. That really upset the son who jumped towards the pygmy.
The old guy had the son by his mullet and in almost like a trance state, just span him around and punched at will but never hard enough as id expect from a fight. Realizing the son wasn't getting himself out of this, and perhaps natural compassion kicking in, I pressed my left palm on the old guys face shoving him hard while pointing my finger at the lady to warn her of any ideas of defending her man. Calm resumed as the son sat on the floor. This seemed a joke to everyone except the crying son who seemed to be reeling from years of emotional damage. I was amazed at how a mother could watch their son broken like that and not care. After all I had just spent two hours talking to my mother in a conversation that was always lively and motivating. Through most of my life and work and even relationships, I've mostly disengaged from fights I don't need to be in but watching a young man crumble like yesterdays bacon was a far sad and sorry state. So I decided to be precisely honest with him. This guy will be doing your mother I said...to the chuckle of the mother who planted a kiss on my cheek at about the same time. But that had nothing to do with him and if he didn't like it as id suppose, he should move out and not hang out at bars with his mother. About his uncle, he came from India many years ago and was a martial arts instructor at some point. By how dark he was , I couldn't have guessed. He told me he was "living the American dream" and this young kid was messing it up for him. We all laughed, shared another pitcher after which I broke away and trotted home.
By
Festus Kasyoka Mbuva
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