I was staring out of the window this morning when my train happened to pass an elementary school along the way towards San Francisco. It was recess time, and the playground was sprawling with playing children. In the center of all the activity, I noticed two boys in particular. The taller, huskier boy had a fist raised as if poised to strike, and was advancing slowly on the smaller boy, who backpedaled cautiously with his own arms raised in defensive attrition. They glided in their poses from one end of the playground to the other, engaged in a clumsy, involuntary dance. I wanted desperately to jump off the train and to intervene, but all I could do was gawk stupidly from my seat and hope against the inevitable. They were still dancing when the playground passed entirely from my sight.
What happened beyond that moment, I can only guess. I realize that I’m powerless to affect what actually took place on that playground today, but it still seems a cruel fate to me that the well-being of that smaller boy should depend on the whims of my cynical imagination.
Do you remember how the tall kid looked like? We can go fuck him up.