Retribution

I awoke one morning to discover that I wasn’t the lone survivor of the previous evening’s debauchery. My girlfriend, whom had apparently became my girlfriend the night before, lay on the floor beside my bed, among a tangle of sheets and hastily discarded clothing. I watched her gentle snoring and tried to recall her name. Maybe it was Debbie or Darla. I vaguely remembered dancing with a girl whose name had a D in it somewhere. It wasn’t an important issue because I knew that when she finally woke up, she wouldn’t remember my name either. That little slip of social etiquette was something that I was used to. It was a time in my life, my early twenties, when I was burning off the calories of my testosterone driven impulses on a nightly basis. My objectives were few and far between, and remembering names was not one of them. I felt content enough if I could remember where I had parked my car at the end of the nightly carousing.

After I showered, I made my way into the living room of my small apartment and recognized one of the coma-like forms on my couch as that of my friend Dave. The other figure I didn’t know, but guessed that she was his conquest from a few hours ago, or maybe he was hers. I suspected that she was the friend of my associate sleeping in the other room. I could probably remember if I really tried, but I chose to leave the unraveling of the mystery to Dave. I would let him handle the intricate details of getting the girls on their way and deciding whether or not to give them our correct phone numbers. He who rises last gets to clean up the mess, so to speak. I slipped out of the front door into the heat of a noontime sun who frowned down upon me in silent disproval. Even the mimosa tree that guarded my window seemed to shake her long fingers at me and whisper, “You need to act your age and be more responsible!”

I mumbled back, “That’s exactly what I am doing…at least the act my age part.”

I decided to drive to a nearby pond that was located in the neighborhood park. When I arrived I found that a softball tournament had attracted a large gathering of spectators. I slipped around the crowds and walked to a secluded spot at the edge of the water. Here, under the protective shade of a large elm tree that I was sitting against, I felt at ease and started my recovery from the previous night’s meanderings. As my mind began to fade into a peaceful relaxed state, I heard the sing-song melody of Spanish as a Mexican father and his two young sons were baiting hooks and picking out their respective fishing spots. The boys were excited, their rich accents rolling out words tense with anticipation. The father patiently instructed them in his native dialect and soon the conversation became sporadic as the trio settled in and concentrated on their floating bobbers.

I did manage to just make it to the edge of sleep before I was pulled back into the world of wakefulness. Tiny legs lightly tickled the skin on my right arm forcing me to open my eyes. I focused on the cause of my irritation and found a small grasshopper staring back at me. For a few moments, a silent standoff occurred. We stared at each other while I waited for the insect to make his escape. After a sluggish half-minute seaped by, it became obvious that the little bugger had no intentions of leaving me alone. He just kept looking at me with his bulging eyes and occasionally flicking his wings. I noticed that one of the wings wasn’t working properly. I supposed that was why he wasn’t moving away. I wasn’t in much of a mood to care. I had my own problems. I needed a nap and this creature was interrupting my goal.

Moving very carefully so as not to scare the insect, I stood and slowly walked to water’s edge. Giving him one last chance to flee, I counted to ten. When the grasshopper remained clinging to me, I suddenly flicked my arm and launched him into the water. I felt vindicated in my action. Hey, I had given him the chance to leave. I had been patient enough. That’s more than some people would do. I would have believed that, would have been satisfied with myself, if only I had went back to the protective shade of the elm. But, I didn’t. I stood there and watched as the grasshopper thrashed about in the water, kicking his legs, making painful, slow circles. I have to admit that I felt a sense of contentment in watching the insect’s struggle. He had caused me annoyance and I had retaliated. It is the law of nature. He who has the power, has the ability to decide the weaker one’s fate. I tried to convince myself that I had done nothing wrong. It was just an insect after all.

Then a shadow emerged from the reeds at the edge of the bank and slowly moved below the surface toward the grasshopper. I focused on the dark object. It was a carp and it followed the distressed vibrations sent out from the straining grasshopper. As the carp moved below the insect, I debated whether to turn and go back to the elm. I realized that I couldn’t leave. Not only was I a part of this unfolding scene, I was responsible for causing it. Exhaustion finally drained the grasshopper of his will and he stopped fighting for his life. The carp moved in to claim his reward. He who has the power, has the ability to decide the weaker one’s fate.

Without thinking, I leapt into the water. The splash pushed the insect further out into the pond and I had to swim to reach him. Gently cupping him in my palm, I made my way back to the shore, my clothes now soaked with a deep fishy smell.

As I climbed back to solid ground the Mexican father and his sons came running up. They had guessed that the commotion was someone landing a big fish. Their eyes moved from lively to confused when I held the grasshopper up to them, my face joyful with success. The father looked with suspicion at me and quietly uttered something to his sons. They backed away from me and returned to their fishing spot. The father kept darting a wary glance in my direction. I knew that I could not explain to him the reason for my actions. It didn’t really matter. What mattered was that something big had happened in a small way.

A lesson became tattooed to my psyche. A lesson that keeps resurfacing as I make my way through life.

He who has the power, has the ability to decide the weaker one’s fate… but, without compassion, the powerful, themselves, become the weak.

Take care.