a fragment on violence
in all public places, we know to find the exits. to drift away from the lone man and into the airspace of the nearest woman. in women, safety. even when they hurt your feelings. safety in women. why would i abandon that. why would i want to be seen as separate from.
my wife was almost there. down the street from pulse. my wife was supposed to be there. had been there a hundred times. would you believe it if i told you the evidence says it wasn’t a hate crime. that he didn’t even know it was a gay club. that you may as well make your pilgrimage to the public park in your own town, to michigan state or virginia tech or stoneman douglas. we are wired this way. to identify more with people who look and love like us. they could be us, we think. it stings us, terrorizes us, moves us to mourn, but what does it matter. the object of the hatred is so inconsistent it becomes irrelevant. a man consumed will find his object.
when i think of mass shootings now i think of cancer patients. survivors. orphans. caregivers. it has to have happened. how to stomach it. how to survive it. when at the store, when in a coffee shop, when at the library, when on a hike, when there are men, i briefly rehearse how to counter violence. if i shouted i have cancer some percentage would let me be. something buried far beneath the damaged psyche, the unfinished prefrontal cortex of the 15-to-25-year-old male who commits our worst violence. cancer is pathetic, pitiable, repellent. the social instinct to let the sick and broken be, or the self-preserving instinct to get the hell away from them. surely one would leave me spared. does it count if i have hair? if i can walk on my own? so stupid to have to fight so hard only to achieve the standard odds of survival in a world with so many avenues to death. to work so hard for the privilege to start over and go on combating the same catastrophes as every other middle-class american.
this super bowl honors pat tillman, who died in the line of duty. fine. technically. but he died because another american soldier shot him. he called the invasion fucking illegal. he hated this propaganda. but the foundation that honors him apparently does good. a phd student working on something or other related to artificial intelligence. someone helping students from underrepresented groups go to college. a guy on the screen explains his cause. i don’t remember what it is. then his wife is there on the video with her longblondhair, with a smile and wave directing you to think she’s pretty. then his wife is there on the video, smiling again but horizontal, still smiling but without her longblondhair. always smiling. then the narrator is there, finally, mercifully ending the arc, executing the bait-and-switch before it can suck you so deep into the riptide that you never make it back. finally saying the words his late wife.
the viewer’s journey in summation: good man does good → aw, doesn’t she look nice, isn’t he lucky → ok, she has cancer → of course, she’s dead → but the cancer victim’s death at 30something has been put to good use → there is the good grieving husband, sad and brave → the good grieving husband seems like he’s doing ok, doesn’t he? enjoy the football. dance with the pop star as she lip-syncs on the floating platform.
there’s damar, a hero! his care team, every last one of them, heroes. a standing ovation for survival.
the nfl reminds us throughout the televised event that it’s committed to doing good, helping the less fortunate. jalen runs another one in and we get another montage. embedded in the montage, the iconic bald children. smiling! they are so lucky. they are so lucky to meet a football player. his heart is as big as his bicep, this football player. we must come together to save the iconic bald children. patrick busts his busted ankle again. the tension so thick, the drama electrifies the stadium and all of glendale and living rooms around the world! the nfl is committed to doing good for the most pitiable among us. we see you, the big-muscled, big-hearted player says. we see you in the cancer wards and hospitals. is your team still winning? where is your exuberance? your passion for football! modern america’s game. did you not expect this? were you unprepared to take these hits tonight? this is a classic, a match-up for the ages, one philly really should win. look at these men, look at the violence they will commit to hold the trophy. look at these men, look at what they will do to their bodies to hold the trophy. these men who do good. these men see you.