Theory

You call because your guilty conscience finally ate away through the thick crust of stupid that embraces, ensconces, and equates you. You whimper on the phone saying that you understand why I was mad at you so long ago, but now you want to make amends, you want to make things better, that you’re really truly sorry.

I say to you, “You may be sorry or not, I don’t really care. You just want to get your sorry off of your chest and have me say it’s OK and I forgive you. I’m not going to do that.” Welcome to my grudge, take a number, have a seat. No not there, that’s where Ill Will sits.

But you tell me I’m being unnecessarily cruel and that you really really need to apologize. You whine and beg and want me to hear you out. Fine, I’ll hear out your stupid. And after folding the phone shut and reclining into my pillows I wonder why I will.

Those better at managing human relationships than I tell me that second chances are good. They tell me that people do, in fact, change; that people are good, that people want to better themselves, and that for me to forgive and forget is good for me. I need to accept that people are flawed; doing so will make me a better person. I accept the flaws of these orators, but apparently they don’t realize that.

To prove that people change, they never go for the obvious examples. They never cite stories of truly reformed Jeffery Dahlmers or John Wayne Gacys or “hair folically challenged devotees of pre World War Two German politics.” No; to prove their point that others can change, they tell me *I* am too narcissistic, that *I* am unforgiving, and *I* hold people to standards that are way too high. An assault on my character is proof that people can, and do, change.

So I resolve to test their theory, mostly because they present another “what if” that I need to destroy. I’ve tested their theories before, on all of you. There was the time when I told you I was dating someone and you suddenly had the hots for me down on your knees, then elbows. That was the theory called “Y’all are whores.” When you used an experience of yours, specifically to make yourself appear glamorous and arrogant, do you remember how you cowered then worshiped me when I told you I’d done the same thing, but better, with five stars, glitterati, the press, and in Gucci? That was the theory called “Y’all are tacky bitches.” Remember when I treated you like shit and you kept coming back for more? That was the theory called “Y’all idiots.” And all those theories kept proving my own suspicion: Being Bitter is Justified.

So I go and meet you. We sit down. And you’re nice to me, you pay me compliments, you comment on my weight loss, how remarkably wonderful my skin is, etc. But it ends there; every ensuing moment of the conversation/monologue is spent talking about yourself. You tell me what I did to you has changed you. You’re now a better person because my abandoning you made you a better person. I don’t realize, you tell me, that I had such a profound effect on your self growth and healing. To finish proving you have changed, you tell me that I mustn’t hold onto my preconceived notions, that I shouldn’t be arrogant, and I should accept your truth and not be so skeptical.

You look at me with such pride; you want me to congratulate you. I say, “Good for you.” I get up to leave, but you grab my wrist and pull me back down. You tell me you’re better now, you’re fixed; you’re not like you were. You smile. I pull my tongue off the roof of my mouth. I suspect what you’re about to do, but I hear their voices saying second chance second chance. Your hands are suddenly pressing down hard on my shoulders, your knees are on my wrists in my lap, your crotch is in my face and you’re telling me I want it.

I press my head forward into you as far as I can; you lose balance but grab onto my hair and neck; nails digging into my scalp. I drop my right shoulder to the ground and you fall off of me, then stand up and come at me again, gladiator style. I make a fist and punch you in the diaphragm; you back off, wheeze. I get up and leave resolutely and deftly. I am a half block away when I vaguely hear you call after me. It’s windy, and I don’t care.