I used to date a girl named Rebecca who used to call me as a pet name “Robot”. Her reason for the moniker was “because you don’t really do that many human things. You don’t sleep, don’t eat and you don’t really show any emotions[1].” Now original I though it had something to do with my sick dance moves, but her explanation now seems to make more sense. I don’t sleep because I have insomnia, I eat very little because I don’t like most food and I’m picky about what I eat, and I'm not emotional that’s just how I am. I was brought up to show a calm and collected demeanor no matter what the situation, which is why what takes place in the following story surprised me more then anyone.
I was 17 at the time and living in Israel. It was an average Tuesday which meant that I was in Jerusalem having lunch with my girlfriend Andy. Andy was a student in Bar-Ilan University (she was also way out of my league but that’s neither here nor there), and after lunch we went back to her school where we just hung around with some of her friends. There was this one guy named Nick, a tall bulky Russian guy who always managed to rub me the wrong way. Nick is what I would call a 1-upper, whatever you have he has something better, whatever you’re doing he’s doing something cooler, everyone knows someone like this. The conversation got around to books and authors, how I don’t exactly recall, maybe someone returned a book I leant them or had a book recommendation. Yet ever time someone would mention a book or a author they liked Nick would put them down with a flippant remark like “ I don’t understand how someone our age is still reading Ayn Rand, I grew tired of her preachy attitude when I was 14” or “you read Dashiell Hammett, why? Do big words give you a headache”. Nick was getting on my nerves like he always did, but my girlfriend didn’t mind him and since she wore the pants in our relationship that was that. I was in the middle of a side conversation with someone who was thanking me for recommending a book by Yukio Mishima to them. Nick overhearing a tidbit of ours, all of a sudden blurts out “you serious like Mishima?” I knew right then that there was going to be a problem, but still I replied that yes I did like Mishima, I thought that his books were fascinating and Mishima himself was a really interesting person. I was a bit surprised that Nick even knew who Mishima was; I thought that if the books weren’t written by Dostoevsky or Tolstoy then Nick wouldn’t know them from a hole in the wall. Yet evidently he did know about Mishima, from our conversation/screaming match[2] that followed its apparent he knew quite a bit. Nick began bashing Mishima, calling him a “crazy, gay sociopath” who lacked a clear path with his writing and let his own emotional state affect his work. I was defending Mishima who I believed was brilliant and one of my favorite authors. Nick then made a remark something to the effect of “everything he wrote about was rubbish, the faggot did the world a favor when he and his loved killed them…” I assume he was going to say “themselves” but I can’t be certain because before he had finished his sentiment I got up and belted him.
I hit Nick with a right cross to the cheek. I should probably mention that at 17 I had still never been in a fight in my life. I had always figured that there were smarter ways to handle things. Now I’m no peacenik who believes that violence doesn’t solve anything, because as history has shown violence has solved a damn lot. It’s just that I had always found a better solution so I've never needed to use my fists. The first punch I ever threw in anger was at Nick, and as luck would have it I connected. Oh boy did I hit him flush, Mohammed Ali never hit Joe Frazier with a more sound punch. I used to wonder how baseball players when they’d hit homeruns, balls that would just barely clear the fence 410 feet away, would drop the bat immediately and immediately start into there homerun trot. But now I can see how there are just certain times when you make great contact that you can feel that you got it, because that’s how I felt when I connected with Nicky’s cheek.
I hit Nick and he went down, I didn’t really watch and see him fall because I was busy standing and staring at my fist. I honestly believe that I was the most surprised person in the room as to what had just happened. I mean id never hit someone before; I’m Mr. Calm and Collected. So the question is what made me do it? What in his comment about Mishima being homosexual and that “he and his lover killed themselves” would set me off. Yah what he said was wrong, but I’ve been called worse things then faggot and yet done nothing, hell he wasn’t even talking about me but rather a man who died 15 years before I was born and who lived most of his life in Japan, yet I was ready to spill blood over it.
Apparently it isn’t a wise move in a fight to stand looking at your fist and contemplating why your fighting, while the fight is still going on, due to my inexperience in these matters I had to learn that the hard way, in this case hard way being: about 9 seconds after I had punched him Nick drove his shoulder right into my solarplexes, performing a textbook tackle and knocking us both down to the floor. Even though I felt like I had been hit by a truck I was able to land a few good shots in before we got finally separated. Things calmed down after a while and I did eventually apologize to Nick[3]. I’m not ashamed of what I did and am actually a little proud, not only did I get into my first fight but that I actually won it, and against a bigger guy no less (Tale of the Tape would be something like Nick- 6’3 230, me-6’0 150[4]).
Up till that time I had always thought I was above stuff like fighting. I didn’t honestly believe I was a robot who felt no emotions, but I did always consider myself different, I didn’t cry when Bambi’s mother was shot, I didn’t even cry when my grandmother died even though everyone else did. I felt bad about not feeling bad enough about those things but I just always thought I was different. Like the Grinch my heart is probably just tiny, so I figured id always be able to keep hold of my emotions. What my punching of Nick told me is that all that is crap. I learned that even I have buttons that can be pushed to send me flying off the handle. Never in a million years would I have thought that it was possible, but thanks to my incident with Nick I now know that that’s the case.
[1] That lack of emotion or more so my sharing it, is what caused our breakup.
[2] Depending on your perspective.
[3] Even though he had it coming and I am in no way actually sorry.
[4] In reality I’m only 5’11 and 3/4ths but my mother always told me when asked to say 6 Feet, because ladies like a guy whose 6 feet. Makes sense to me, whether it’s true or not I don’t know yet.
