A Friendship:

 

My first friend was my grandmother’s neighbor. His father struggled with alcohol, and had relatively high expectations his sons. My friend had two older brothers I never met that seemed like somewhat of a source of misery for him: at least then. We had a knack for commiserating, and finding new ways to make ourselves miserable. The small amount of childhood bullying I had suffered through was with him by my side. He was the kind of person who would never give to flight in the opportune moment, and my proximity to him would result in my taking some of the punches, so to speak. 

 

I remember once that someone, I can’t remember their name, had thrown a rock at him, missed, and hit me in the eye: giving me one of the few black eyes I have had in my life. They apologized, he apologized, and I accepted them both. I can still picture the grey blur of a stone advancing toward my eye: I want to say the right eye. But, hey, I took a position, ironically of passiveness, and no choice is neutral. They knew that, and, whether intentionally or not, they taught me a lesson. I failed to chose higher ground when confronted with two wrongs and suffered the consequences. Peace is a tricky thing.