(Originally posted as a Facebook note.)
What if I stepped in, right now?
He has her by the hair, leading her out from their apartment onto the balcony that runs across the front of our complex. Tears and sweat fall from her face, leaving a trail parallel to that left by her bleeding nose. The guy, presumably her boyfriend, is tall and broad, built like a brick wall. His face has the scarring - and his nose, the reshaping - that makes me pause. He's been in his share of fights. I haven't been in any. He could crush me like a spent beer can without blinking.
What if I stepped in anyway?
I could tell him to leave her alone; but he'd probably look at me incredulously (What is this, fifth grade? - "You leave her alone, or I'll tell the teacher!") and tell me to mind my own business. What if I was brave enough? I could assure him that this WAS my business.
He's blackening her eyes, yelling about another man and broken vows. She's shrieking that she's sorry. The neighbors aren't even looking out their windows. Such arguments are common here. Besides, who wants to cross the hulk man?
What if I stepped in, right now?
What if he could be reasoned with?
I could tell him about how "courage" comes from the word "cor", meaning "heart". Courage is "heartness". Fearlessness and strength aren't enough. Your heart must be involved. I could even challenge him - "I have more courage than you, right now. You're being heartless." What if that angers him? What if he wants to fight? I would lose that fight. I would lose terribly. What if, just as I'm about to turn away, she catches my eye?
He's punching her in the stomach. She's crying about a baby. An elderly man is threatening to call the police if they don't quiet down; the hulk threatens to gut the octogenarian like a fish if he doesn't go back inside.
Her eyes might be brown - dark, almost black. Her tears could make them like inky pools, deep with pain and fear. She might silently plead with me, "Be courageous. Of all the moments in your life to have heart, let it be now. I need you. Please. Please, help me."
What if I can't refuse?
What if he has a knife?
What if I could be courageous?
I might remove my jacket, my tie, my dress shirt. As I do, I could inform the hulk that "I'm going to show you how a real man loses a fight."
In a flurry of impotent kicks and punches, I could learn a bit about brass knuckles, a bit about knife wounds and a bit about blood loss. I wonder what this tank of a man would learn. Would he learn about true masculinity during the easiest fight of his life? Would he see the monster he has become as my weak strikes come up against his crushing blows? Would it help at all?
As the girl runs for help, as I lay on the floor, losing consciousness, I could learn a lot about being a hero.
The hulk is gone.
The girl is laying in a pool of her own blood, unmoving. Sirens wail in the distance.
Heartness, indeed.
What if I had stepped in, just then?
-isaac
What if I stepped in, right now?
He has her by the hair, leading her out from their apartment onto the balcony that runs across the front of our complex. Tears and sweat fall from her face, leaving a trail parallel to that left by her bleeding nose. The guy, presumably her boyfriend, is tall and broad, built like a brick wall. His face has the scarring - and his nose, the reshaping - that makes me pause. He's been in his share of fights. I haven't been in any. He could crush me like a spent beer can without blinking.
What if I stepped in anyway?
I could tell him to leave her alone; but he'd probably look at me incredulously (What is this, fifth grade? - "You leave her alone, or I'll tell the teacher!") and tell me to mind my own business. What if I was brave enough? I could assure him that this WAS my business.
He's blackening her eyes, yelling about another man and broken vows. She's shrieking that she's sorry. The neighbors aren't even looking out their windows. Such arguments are common here. Besides, who wants to cross the hulk man?
What if I stepped in, right now?
What if he could be reasoned with?
I could tell him about how "courage" comes from the word "cor", meaning "heart". Courage is "heartness". Fearlessness and strength aren't enough. Your heart must be involved. I could even challenge him - "I have more courage than you, right now. You're being heartless." What if that angers him? What if he wants to fight? I would lose that fight. I would lose terribly. What if, just as I'm about to turn away, she catches my eye?
He's punching her in the stomach. She's crying about a baby. An elderly man is threatening to call the police if they don't quiet down; the hulk threatens to gut the octogenarian like a fish if he doesn't go back inside.
Her eyes might be brown - dark, almost black. Her tears could make them like inky pools, deep with pain and fear. She might silently plead with me, "Be courageous. Of all the moments in your life to have heart, let it be now. I need you. Please. Please, help me."
What if I can't refuse?
What if he has a knife?
What if I could be courageous?
I might remove my jacket, my tie, my dress shirt. As I do, I could inform the hulk that "I'm going to show you how a real man loses a fight."
In a flurry of impotent kicks and punches, I could learn a bit about brass knuckles, a bit about knife wounds and a bit about blood loss. I wonder what this tank of a man would learn. Would he learn about true masculinity during the easiest fight of his life? Would he see the monster he has become as my weak strikes come up against his crushing blows? Would it help at all?
As the girl runs for help, as I lay on the floor, losing consciousness, I could learn a lot about being a hero.
The hulk is gone.
The girl is laying in a pool of her own blood, unmoving. Sirens wail in the distance.
Heartness, indeed.
What if I had stepped in, just then?
-isaac
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