One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer

[plural]

most of my longer readers and many of my real life friends
[a few of whom even overlap]

are often surprised seeing me react in a particular situation

as a particularly astute reader of mine said recently
I am neither an idealist nor a cynic

although I have noticed recently
a strong trend towards preferring redheads
which is odd as for most of my life
I have never had a discernable type
when women were concerned

yet to most people I am an ever charming king
an affable yet roguish fellow
living in a perpetual state of casual pursuits

but for many years I have struggled with a darker side
that has taken me many years to come to grips with
[I think perhaps I have]

a particular friend a while back
mentioned that such and such had made me mean
however the truth is that I have always been mean
cruel even

but never wantonly

in younger days
I could not reconcile my capacity for cruelty and my comfort with it
with my own image of what constitutes a good man

in my few years
I have both taken lives and saved them
[both in the literal and figurative senses]

it was easy for me to castigate myself for one
and fail to balance my criticisms to account for the other

sure I was [and still am]
haunted by images of tattered ravaged flesh
rent asunder by hot shards of metal
and neatly perforated with cylinders of lead

waking up with dried crusted human blood
worn into the cracks of my hands

images of war and terror, the sounds of violence and strife
which seem to remain with me like an old friend fallen out of favor
you rather wish you could avoid them but there is so much history there
you cant just bring yourself to discard them entirely

our cheaply bought lives
our fragile humanity

when it comes down to it it wasn't the act of a taking a life that really bothered me
it was how little it bothered me and how easy it was to do so; which churned my stomach
I simply could not reconcile my ability and capacity to do evil
[even if in the service of good]
with my perception of what it means to be a good man
to me they were entirely incompatible

I recall long ago a quote sent to me
which for sometime gave me solace

"The monsters we are, so that monsters we do not become"

I was amazed how instantly I adapted to violence and strife
my brain in a sense seemed to be at its norm in its natural home

my youthful confusion that lost wandering sense
of a teenage boy unsure of his place in the world
all faded away

replaced by calm immediacy
I recall with clarity the first terrorist attack I experienced
much in a way like my first sexual experience
although without the latent fondness which the latter recalls

but in a way it was the same in the merest of moments
my entire world changed

a fraction of a second to change who I was and how I viewed myself forever

try if you might to imagine me as a virgin
a faithful orthodox Jewish boy

wipe that smirk off your face
at one time it wasn't nearly so preposterous

but with my first woman that all changed

I recall with no small significance her first soft moan as I penetrated her
and nearly immediately my entire perspective on the world around me changed

all of a sudden in that instant
I had slipped beneath the rose
and became indoctrinated in all the worlds secrets

that slight sigh, feeling her envelope me
the urgent rising of her hips to meet me as we were joined

even fumbling through it
as a nearly fourteen year old boy is want to do
I could tell the world would never be the same
like eve biting that apple
I could feel the knowledge of a whole new world
a whole new reality flowing through me

it was the same ten long years ago on that street in Jerusalem
when my evening with friends flirting with a lil hottie with round eyes and rounder breasts
was interrupted by automatic gunfire and panicked screams

in the time it took for me to blink the entire world had changed

my brain did not pause
it shifted from pursuing one goal to the next
as easily as exhaling

from trying to get in her pants
to analyzing the situation, identifying the threat and trying to survive

it didn't occur to me at the time
in fact it wasn't until someone pointed it out to me later
that I realized it had not occurred to me to be afraid
that isn't to say I wasn't not afraid
because I was terrified
but only later, safely at home, drinking straight from a bottle of vodka
to calm my nerves and steady my shaking hands

from that first moment of identifying the sound and seeing the shattering glass
the ricochets of bullets on stone walls, sparking in the night

to that last moment
doing CPR on a man who had been shot three times in the chest
using only the force of my will to keep him alive until the paramedics arrived

I never paused
never stopped thinking about what I must do
long enough to consider if I should be afraid

but after that moment
I was never again the same

while I had always admired ruthlessness
the ability to be cold and hard with those who deserved it
now I saw it was also necessary

it is amazing how all those shades of moral and ethical gray
fade away so quickly when someone is trying to kill you

I suppose in the end I always felt
I should have been philosophical about taking a life

perhaps had more regrets

but in the end
it was decidedly simple
entirely easy and it worried me greatly
as a portent of my own lack of humanity

but I have come to realize it is not that I have the ability
which demonstrates or exemplifies my humanity
but how I exercise that ability

it is not my innate ability to be cruel which makes me a bad man
rather it is my restraint of that ability that make me a good man
for we are all capable of evil

most people will never be forced to contemplate
let alone see just how capable of evil they are
it was that which troubled me for I was all to familiar with my capabilities

my hands know the force required to snap a mans neck
my ears the hiss of a mans last breath

these are things which become inherently part of you
not theory or ideas but knowledge stored
not in your mind but in your body
your senses

the stain of it
I suppose will remain with me always

but these days it seems
my tattered soul
has finally become comfortable

instead of a broken tool
or shattered vase
I wear it more like
a faithful worn pair of jeans

battered, tattered and stained
but its history
both good and bad
entirely mine

and I am ok with that