Violent Fingers

Saturday night a friend and I went to a small bar named “Grand Emporium” where some of our friends usually hang out. We know the DJ there and the music is always excellent. As usual, we had a great time. But at one point in the evening something happened to me that only until this morning I realized may have been something more than innocent fun.

I was sitting in one of the posh velvety booths (Elvis-style) with maybe six or seven of us around the table. At the table were two friends that I have cozied up to in the past, and still hang out with on a fairly regular basis (separately, of course). I happened to be sitting next to one of the friends and may have been imparting a bit more attention to one than the other. At the time, I didn’t think in a million years that either one of them would notice that fact, or even care.

While I was showering this morning, I was lathering up the old tummy and as I ran my hands down my washboard abs stomach, I felt a dull but obvious pain. Then, upon inspection, I noticed not one bruise, but two. Now truth be told, this would not be the first time I’ve found mysterious bruises on my body after a night of rebel-rousing. In fact, I think I may have even had emergency surgeries that I can’t remember. But not this time. I remembered immediately where this came from. Flash back to Saturday evening.

While getting up from the booth to use the little boys room, the friend not getting any attention gave me a couple of finger-pokes in the side (ala goochi-goo). I remember these “tickles” not just because they hurt, but because I HATE when people poke me in the side—especially this one particular friend that I’ve asked repeatedly not to do that. But then it dawned on me. This was no ordinary goochi-goo. This was aggression disguised as playfulness. This guy poked me hard enough to bruise my ribs [ignore obvious joke here]. And god knows I’m not exactly skin and bones in my mid-section.

I’m not a whiner, and I’m not one to scream foul play when I’m not even sure of people’s true intentions. But I’m also not one to put up with violence, or even aggression—especially if it’s targeted at me. And frankly, I kind of feel a little more scared of how his rage was manifested through something playful. Kind of like Jeffrey Dahmer asking you to play hopscotch. Scary. With that, I say this with deep conviction both literally and figuratively: That was the last time he ever lays a finger on me.