So there I was...
Out to lunch the other day at the Del Taco eating with a few law school buddies, one of which was the infamous Super. We were eating outside, enjoying the sunny CA weather (yes, the floods have finally subsided and I am once again reminded of why I live here) when one of the classmates, with worried expression, lifted the sleeve of my teefury shirt and asked me if everything was alright at home. Let me back up the story a bit at this point.
The one called Super is probably one of the coolest people I have ever met and has been a life savior in school as well as in the social life. Since my next closest friend and confidant is up in the Canyon Country, Super and I are pretty much inseparable and have been for a few months now. I realized a few days in to the relationship that Super, not being a very violent person by nature, has a habit of beating the people he loves most. Weird, I know. Do not worry, no women or animals are ever harmed...actually, come to think of it, he really only beats me. It's okay though, I have two arms and it is really only the right one that gets punched, and punched, and punched again. Did I mention he wears this really huge, plastic green ring on that hand? No, I don't think I did mention that. Well, he does and never bothers to take it off.
Now I realize it might sound like I hate this ritual and yes at times the moments of punishment are inopportune, if you will, but it sometimes is fun. Not in a masochistic sort of way, but in the I always get to hit back sort of way. This strange man-ritual has become a bonding event, I assume, much in the same way that boxers and UFC fighters can go out for drinks after a fight. Sometimes i feel bad though. There was a purple bruise on his arm all last month that he showed to everyone. Lost a few friends over that I assure you. When I complain about my arm hurting and try to show them my bruises they all just laugh at me. Sure they are hard to see, but they are there. Just because my bruises don't end up a strange neon purple color does not mean mine hurt any less! My prayers have at last been answered, however, and this week the bruises have decided to manifest. Only, where Super's bruises were cute and sympathetic, mine are horrendous and make my arm look like an old banana. Which brings me full circle.
Back to fellow classmate lifting the sleeve of my shirt. Finally someone acknowledges my suffering. At last, someone will realize that I am the victim in this violent bonding game and for once see that I am hit a million times more often than Super. I had thoughts of him finally getting what he deserved: a shame on you from one of the classmates. That's all I wanted. Someone to see past his bruises and sympathize with mine.
"Is everything okay at home?" she says as she lifts my sleeve.
I chuckle a bit and reply with a timid "yes". I then proceed to tell her a shorter version of the game, which Super claims, is a outward manifestation of his brotherly love. What does she do?
No "poor JM"
No "why do you beat your best friend, Super?"
A piece of dell taco wrapper resembling the tumbleweeds of the old west rolled past. We watched it for a while. Until it, like my ego, was hit by the next passing bus.
Conversation continued. We moved on to something else. Had a great time at the Del. My arm still looks like an old banana.