Fuck you! I didn't.
I did not want some. And yet, you chased me down, slammed me up against the wall and gave me some anyway.
You kicked the shit out of me. Literally.
I had never shit myself before. I mean of course as a baby but at the time of the jumping I was ten and shit-pants-less.
I remember walking home slowly and waddling up the stairs and crying because I had gotten beat up and all I wanted to do was change clothes.
But I couldn't because Big Tee was there. Big Tee was desperate to prove to my lesbian mother that he the man that was going to keep her straight so he was like over-man.
Big Tee saw me crying and demanded to know what happened and when I told him he inquired,
"Where these motherfuckers at?" and when I said the school yard, he grabbed my hand and lead me back to the school yard.
You weren't there. Big Tee was not satisfied. With Big Tee leading, I walked around the neighborhood for forty-five minutes looking for you...with shit in my drawls.
The crazy thing is I have never been mad at you. I mean I curse you every time I see my disfigured rib in the mirror but no anger.
Maybe because The Town was rough. Maybe because there's the jumper and the jumpee and I just happened to be the latter. Maybe after spending a total of seventy-nine minutes with my own feces I just don't care about you anymore.
I hope you are still alive. I hope your beating up on others thing didn't become a lifestyle and now you are dead or in jail for it. What I hope most is that your son doesn't ever experience his dad the way I did. It sucked.