Chapter 9
The Battle Front

I have seen the brutality of the battle front and it is called ‘dodgeball’. If one were to ever notice the differences in the genders this would be the place to witness it. I had a dodgeball game last night and was able to see the bloody massacre, bodies strewn all over the floor in a desperate attempt to avoid complete annihilation. My “therapist” told me that they see more of girls because we don’t take out our feelings in a physical form as boys do. He said a guy could get in trouble for being in a fist fight, but that’s how he has learned to deal with his feelings; and girls, we tend to keep it to ourselves, cry a little, think we’ve dealt with it, and yet the problems keep stewing inside of us. I saw a prime example of what he was talking about during dodgeball. Boys throw the ball, at boys or girls it doesn’t matter, and they throw it hard. I still have a red mark on my thigh from where a boy whacked me with a ball. Boys race for the center line, unafraid of getting out; they simply have the task of getting to that ball first in their minds. As it would happen, girls stayed back a little, maybe because the boys ran so fast towards the middle, intimidating the girls, or maybe survival was more important to us. As it would turn out many of the boys would get out by getting to that line, they had their hands on a ball and then they were struck down in their prime, they were ready to attack but not fully prepared that someone on the other team was also ready to attack. It was up to the girls to save the game. I got to witness first hand what a battle front might look like in real life if girls were there with the boys ready to fight. We’d hold back, dodge bullets, weakly shoot at our opponents and miss and then go down in a fit of surprise and disgust that someone would actually hurt a girl. While boys seemed to see their lives play out in slow motion as they heroically get hit by the ball, they may go down but they have already taken out two or three of the enemy. They dodge one bullet coming up to the left and then twist around to avoid another and then the hit, straight to the chest while they weren’t looking or cowardly to the back (probably from a girl who already gotten herself sent to prison). They fall to their knees, a ball still in their hands, but no shock on their face, this is a battle they can reenter if they get to the “prison” fast enough and catch a ball. For a girl it’s over once you’re out, the likelihood that you’ll be catching a ball from across the court is slim to none, and even if you could why would you want to run back into the mist of enemy fire just to go through the whole process again when you can stand behind the enemy and attack without worries of being hit in return? You can hit them in the back when they aren’t looking.
I wish I could take out more frustration with dodgeball. But I feel like I vicariously did that through the boys on my team. They seemed happy enough before the game started; yet, when they started to play they seemed the most hurtful, vicious people, bent on physical destruction of the other team.
Granted you had the boys who felt a little awkward about beating on a girl, and they were usually the ones taken down easily. I have to admit that the whole concept of the game is hilarious. Throw the ball as hard as you can at your opponent, boy or girl, and try to get them out? If there was ever a way to get away with domestic violence this game would be it.
On other battlefields I officially hate living in my apartment. My room-roommate has officially moved out and I see no point in leaving my bedroom when other roommates are home. When I do finally emerge from my hiding place I find myself merely becoming agitated with them as they have yet to discover how to open the dishwasher, or empty the trash so the dishes are piling up and the kitchen is beginning to smell of rotten milk and bananas. Today was nice outside so I took the opportunity of taking the trash out to avoid conversation with my roommates.
Tonight my pretend boyfriend came over and one of my roommates was sitting in the living room with him while I stayed in here doing things that I wanted and needed to do. When I went out there I wasn’t much in the mood to see either one of them so I sent up the emergency flare for my roommate/friend who I am considering calling Sweet Pea, to get over here. She finally came, but late, and the conversation, while having lost one of its members, was dragging. I have a feeling that the old me is coming back, the me where when it was coming close to the time to move away from some place for a very extended period of time (in this case forever) I begin to burn bridges. I’m not good at goodbyes, I never have been. Mostly because I have the realistic view that no one stays in touch, the only people who do are the overly-persistent ones (which isn’t a bad thing) but the others fade out of my memory and life goes on. My pretend boyfriend is one of those who will, within a year or two, be completely faded from my memory. I have threatened him with prematurely cutting off this relationship that I am completely sick of continuing and he has always assumed I was joking and said something along the lines of, “God does answer prayers,” which only aggravates me all the more. So tonight he said something and I told him we could cut it off now, there was no need to be friends any longer since in six weeks we will no longer be friends anyway. Then I told him what friends I got and he couldn’t have from the spilt. He laughed, I was half serious, and he said, “You love me,” and I looked at him and said, “No, I don’t.” I’m still wondering if he even heard me. Don’t get me wrong, we still have a lot of fun, so I probably will keep in around a bit longer for kicks, besides my parents are going to be here for graduation and I am assembling my group of friends to hang out with them.
I don’t like having my own room.