A brief excursion into Jim's darker side. |
Reason Marty Livingston Sy came waltzing back from the party with that smug look on his face and his chin jutting out just waiting to be clocked. He smiled at Jim, or was it more of a smirk? “Did you meet any girls at the dance Jim? I walked Betty home after the last dance. Look at all the lipstick I had to wipe off on my hanky.” Over and over, Jim kept hearing his mother’s voice bouncing around in his head. “Sy is your brother. Be nice to him. You have no reason to be angry with him.” No reason? Jim thought. The fucking weasel, I hate him. “Reason,” he kept hearing non-stop. His whole body boiled every time he heard that word. His shoulders tightened. His fists clenched. And he’s not my real brother anyway, he thought. I just hate him. “Fuck you,” he said aloud in response to Sy’s hanky waving. “Oh, does that mean that you didn’t get any?” Sy continued. That did it. “Reason!” Jim heard in his head. “You fucking weasel,” he said as his fist slammed into Sy’s jutting jaw. Sy went down and made no effort to get up, no effort to fight back. As Jim started to leave his heart was still going a mile a minute. His fists were still clenched. Walk away now. Walk away, he told himself. He turned on a dime and heard himself let out a loud guttural sound. His fists now both in the air about head high, he charged like a mad gorilla. Sy had just begun to get back to his feet when Jim set upon him with both fists pounding. Blood ran from Sy’s face. He went down hard and lay there. Again Jim started to leave the room. Walk away damn it. Just walk away, he told himself. His blood continued to boil. He went back into the room where Sy lay crying on his back. “You weasel,” he said with heated scorn as he put his knees on Sy’s shoulders. His excitement mounted as he pushed his bulging crotch in Sy’s face and enjoyed watching him squirm. Once more Jim got up and left the room. Enough, he thought. Now walk away. No more. He took a deep breath and grew calm, but it was not simply a calm. This time his fury turned to ice. Once more he went back to Sy. This time he was no longer frantic and exploding. This time his motions were slow and deliberate. Jim knelt over Sy, put his hands around his throat and began to squeeze. “Please,” Sy pleaded through his sniveling tears. “You son of a bitch, you worthless weasel.” Jim began to tighten his grip. He felt Sy’s breathing stop for a few seconds. Then he pulled himself away and walked out into the cold dark night. |