There are only two people I consider my enemies.
And now on reflection one I rather like, and the other is just a pompous ass who's done no real harm.
I've never been in a fist fight... though once there was a chance.
It was in the changing room at gym class, in 7th grade, where all great fist fights start.
I had an invitation to a party that I was reading. It was rudely yanked out of my hands by the biggest, meanest, dumbest redneck/cowboy/KiKKer you could imagine- Terry. I yanked it back from him instantly and walked over to my locker. He followed me, full of wrath and fury.
And then he punched me. hard. In the face. He may have said something.
"Oh, you're a big man, Terry."
PUNCH. It didn't hurt.
"I'm real impressed."
"Are you satisfied?"
All in all, he punched me five times, with full hay-bailing strength, and then gave up in frustration and walked away.
And then right on cue, this little weasel of a kid, this Steve Buscemi in gym shorts, this Peter Lorre in sneakers, sidles up to me. In my memories, he's sniveling and hunched, but that can't be true, can it? He says something to the effect of "Wow, Roy, you shouldn't of done that. Terry's pissed. He's going to kill you. I mean, standing up for yourself is good and all, but he's going to kill you."
He never did. Cuz he couldn't get a rise out of me.
I don't know why I didn't fight. I don't know why I never fought. I don't know why I try to placate and smooth over any situations that are rough. I don't know why when there's conflict between two people I adore, I worry about it more than they do.
I just don't fight. I don't have it in me.