The Ordinary Times

Why We Fight

Why fight? I am an educated person. I know that violence is the communication of the frustrated, the being with its needs unmet, unexpressed. I tried to fight a man, and the spirit of that fight has not left me.

Why did it happen? I was dancing at a loft party, on a table. Liquid hits me. I figure a beer gets thrown at a wild party – I’m at a wild party. It happens again. I look, and the same group of dudes are holding up the wall, checking things out. I resume dancing on the table, which was a door. I’m hit again – a third time. Something snaps inside of me, and I come down off of that table in a fury, pushing, yelling. “You throwing BEERS on me?” and “NOW? It’s on NOW?” flying freely from my wild mouth as I shove the man I suspect is the culprit.

What set me off? What is it inside of me that made this happen? It’s not just rap music – it can’t be. This is the sort of behavior I witnessed in middle school, when I saw some of the biggest brawls in my life. The “inner city” of Portland was no Bronx, but it was serious at times, like when Michael Johnson, the Native kid from Circumstances, fought CJ’s twins (a kid named CJ was the “don” of the 8th grade, and he had two younger prodigies) in the lunchroom. It was a bloodbath. I haven’t fought since Deondre punched me in the face in fifth grade, and here I am, 26 years old, up in some guys’ face hollering, “It’s on NOW?”

I’ve thought about it a lot, and I have a couple of different theories. The one that I like (but is unlikely) is that this was an expression of my distaste for social tourism. That I was lashing out against those that would not participate in the merriment that is deserved of a weeks’ worth of work.

Another idea is that I was standing up for myself, for my self-respect. I was being silly – dancing on a table at a loft party, wearing a foppish lavender cardigan – and I didn’t want to be put down. I have a right to be this way, to dance this way. Goddamnit, I’m from here, and this is how I want to be and I’ve earned it.

Another idea is that I’m an asshole, and part of that idea is a lot of blame on a beverage that I have since sworn off of – Four Loco.

The justice of the situation came into question immediately, and thankfully a certain Ordinary Times writer was there to intervene. The loud questions I was hurling were not rhetorical – I was really asking him if he was throwing beers on me. His lack of an affirmative response made the situation less a crusade of justice than a madman’s wrath. In the heat of things I was validated by his disinterest in fighting, but what would have come of it?

When I fought in elementary school, I participated in mediation with Deondre and his mother. The mediator, Michael, was a gang mediator that practiced Taekwon-do at my Taekwon-do school, and he asked, “what could have happened? Maybe you break his leg (referring to Jeremiah kicking Deondre, who had me in a headlock), maybe you choke him to death (aforementioned headlock). Then what happens?”

What could have happened that night? What would have happened if I shoved him and he fell – hard? What if I shoved him into someone else who fell?

What did happen was I got back up on that table and danced. I don’t mean to condone this sort of behavior, but you better believe no more beer landed on me.