Read Online As Luck Would Have It by Mark Goldstein - Free Book Online
Authors: Mark Goldstein
Ads: Link
Clifford, you're bleeding. I think I'm OK. God, look at your face! Joseph, are you hurt bad? I don't know, Jamie kicked me, my leg hurts. Screw those assholes. I was sitting up now, Joseph holding his handkerchief to my nose, the bleeding nearly stopped. He looked OK ; I think they scared him more than anything, but he did have a small welt forming on his forehead where the first of the primates struck him.
This is my fault; if it weren't for me. Shut up Joseph, this is not your fault. If I was normal they would leave me alone. Don't you ever say that again, you hear me? It's true. It's not true and if you say it again, I'll hit you harder than they did. Are you hearing me damn it, it's not your fault.
Fault is such a strange concept to consider sometimes; a mistake, a failure, a character weakness, a lack of integrity. Is it my fault that I'm no good at math? Is it Joseph's fault he's not strong enough to fight off guys like Jamie? Is it even Jamie's fault that he is such a bully? Or is it his parents' fault for not teaching him firmer values? Maybe it was the obstetrician's fault, pulling too hard with the forceps, or the pediatrician's fault for prescribing the wrong medicine, or no one's fault at all, just circumstance. Maybe we don't have to always take responsibility or blame someone for everything that doesn't go the way we planned. It's not my mother's fault that she couldn't have more children, though she blamed herself. I s it Coach Galloway's fault that the team lost their first three games, or that our starting quarterback broke his ankle on the very first play from scrimmage this season ? What good comes from us feeling compelled to assign culpability no matter what goes wrong? Is my incredible good luck my fault?
We were walking again, heading for Joseph's house. We decided it would be better to have Mrs. Klein look me over first and clean me up and maybe call my mother to tell her what happened; she'd be hysterical if I just walked into her kitchen looking like I did while she was in the middle of cleaning the 22 pound bird my father brought home the day before. He was quiet as we walked, fighting back tears, I knew. Everything will be alright Joseph, I promise. I swear to you, I’ll take care of it. How I was supposed to do that, I had no idea.
Our Thanksgiving dinner was to turn out a bit differently than what my mother had planned, what with me sitting at our table, my face swollen and a major black eye forming from the beating I had taken the day before. My parents didn’t know what to do at first, but the Kleins had been quite upset by what had happened, so we had all sat down together at their house on Wednesday evening, Mrs. Klein still shaken and quite worried, with good reason, for her son. After we told them what happened and confessed to the prior incident that had gone unreported, my father, normally composed and quite calm about such things , was noticeably angry and wanted to call Strickmann right then and there, but the other adults convinced him that it might be better to not interrupt his holiday, and that in any event, calmer heads would prevail next week and he could attend to matters when school resumed.
Well, it was Thanksgiving soon, Mr. Klein noted, and we should be grateful for what we have and for all of our blessings, which was true enough. I was thankful that Joseph wasn’t really hurt , beyond his pride anyway, and that all of my teeth were still intact. Later, when we had gone home, my dad pulled me aside and said he was proud of me for standing up to Jamie and for looking out for Joseph, and my mother was beaming too through the tears in her eyes.
By mid-afternoon on Thursday, the guests had begun to arrive and I felt pretty good by then . I strutted around while everyone either doted on me or commented on the shiner that was forming quite prominently. We watched the Redskins play the Lions and enjoyed the
This is my fault; if it weren't for me. Shut up Joseph, this is not your fault. If I was normal they would leave me alone. Don't you ever say that again, you hear me? It's true. It's not true and if you say it again, I'll hit you harder than they did. Are you hearing me damn it, it's not your fault.
Fault is such a strange concept to consider sometimes; a mistake, a failure, a character weakness, a lack of integrity. Is it my fault that I'm no good at math? Is it Joseph's fault he's not strong enough to fight off guys like Jamie? Is it even Jamie's fault that he is such a bully? Or is it his parents' fault for not teaching him firmer values? Maybe it was the obstetrician's fault, pulling too hard with the forceps, or the pediatrician's fault for prescribing the wrong medicine, or no one's fault at all, just circumstance. Maybe we don't have to always take responsibility or blame someone for everything that doesn't go the way we planned. It's not my mother's fault that she couldn't have more children, though she blamed herself. I s it Coach Galloway's fault that the team lost their first three games, or that our starting quarterback broke his ankle on the very first play from scrimmage this season ? What good comes from us feeling compelled to assign culpability no matter what goes wrong? Is my incredible good luck my fault?
We were walking again, heading for Joseph's house. We decided it would be better to have Mrs. Klein look me over first and clean me up and maybe call my mother to tell her what happened; she'd be hysterical if I just walked into her kitchen looking like I did while she was in the middle of cleaning the 22 pound bird my father brought home the day before. He was quiet as we walked, fighting back tears, I knew. Everything will be alright Joseph, I promise. I swear to you, I’ll take care of it. How I was supposed to do that, I had no idea.
Our Thanksgiving dinner was to turn out a bit differently than what my mother had planned, what with me sitting at our table, my face swollen and a major black eye forming from the beating I had taken the day before. My parents didn’t know what to do at first, but the Kleins had been quite upset by what had happened, so we had all sat down together at their house on Wednesday evening, Mrs. Klein still shaken and quite worried, with good reason, for her son. After we told them what happened and confessed to the prior incident that had gone unreported, my father, normally composed and quite calm about such things , was noticeably angry and wanted to call Strickmann right then and there, but the other adults convinced him that it might be better to not interrupt his holiday, and that in any event, calmer heads would prevail next week and he could attend to matters when school resumed.
Well, it was Thanksgiving soon, Mr. Klein noted, and we should be grateful for what we have and for all of our blessings, which was true enough. I was thankful that Joseph wasn’t really hurt , beyond his pride anyway, and that all of my teeth were still intact. Later, when we had gone home, my dad pulled me aside and said he was proud of me for standing up to Jamie and for looking out for Joseph, and my mother was beaming too through the tears in her eyes.
By mid-afternoon on Thursday, the guests had begun to arrive and I felt pretty good by then . I strutted around while everyone either doted on me or commented on the shiner that was forming quite prominently. We watched the Redskins play the Lions and enjoyed the
Similar Books
