Sorry for the lack of updates recently.  I wish I had some kind of awesome excuse for why I haven’t updated this blog in a few months, but I don’t.  Honestly, I’m just lazy.

I have a younger brother, and as kids we fought all the time.  No big deal really.  A few inept punches  thrown (few landed), perhaps a wimpy kick or two, and a lot of rolling around on the ground.  But there comes a time in almost every young man’s life when he has to engage in a fight with someone who isn’t his brother (or sister, for that matter).  Some young men actually yearn to engage in fisticuffs with another person and relish the idea of beating the crap out of someone.  Then there are those who fear fighting.  Intensely.  As a short, underweight kid with braces and glasses, I was one of those kids.

One afternoon after school—I guess I was in 5th or 6th grade—myself and three friends got together to play a game of backyard football.  There was Dave, Justin, Adam, and myself.  Now, at one point during the game, Dave and Justin got into an argument.  I don’t remember what they argued about.  All I know is that they ended up rolling around in the grass together.  No punches were thrown, just two dudes rolling around on the ground.  Adam and I watched together and laughed.  How ridiculous! we thought.

Then, Adam looked at me, smiled, and asked: “Hey, do you want to rumble?” (Yes, he said “rumble.”)

Judging by Adam’s smile, I assumed he was joking, so I said, “Sure.”

Next thing I knew, Adam had put me in some kind of hold to keep me from moving.  I squirmed around a bit and managed to break free.  I turned and looked at Adam.  He was no longer smiling.  He looked serious.  Surely he wasn’t expecting us to really fight, was he?  But before I could make any sense of what was going on, Adam squared up and punched me right in the eye.  (Remember, I was wearing glasses).  I hit the ground like a sack of dirt.  Adam stood over me.

“What the hell?” I managed to say.

“Asshole,” Adam said.

Completely dumbfounded, I stood up, covered my eye with my fingers and told Dave I was going home.  Walking home, I thought, was that a fight?  Was that my first fight?  I didn’t even know it was a fight!  Had I known, I would’ve at least tried not to get punched in the eye.  But, alas, that’s what happened.  And it suddenly occurred to me that come the next school day, Adam would tell everyone how he punched poor me in the eye and how I did nothing and just went home.  And that, my friends, is exactly what he did.

To read Part I, please click here.

So, like I said, Roscoe was not amused with Carla and I’s innocent comments to one another. But why should I care? Well, let me tell you a little about Roscoe (and another future player in this epic tale of woe).

One night, me and some of my coworkers from the bookstore went to a coworker’s apartment for a night of, well, serious drinking. Carla, who was drinking Malibu Rum straight from the bottle, was in a partial embrace with another coworker of ours named Julian. Julian had been chugging Budweiser pounders and was muttering half-baked ideas about life and art. Now, despite the fact that Carla was dating Roscoe and that Julian was engaged, Julian decided to plant a kiss on Carla and slip her some tongue. Carla was shocked and appalled.

Within a few days time, Roscoe found out about the kissing incident and made a surprise visit to the bookstore (Carla was at home; Julian was working). Roscoe approached Julian in the kids’ area, grabbed him by the throat, pressed him against a flimsy prop tree, and smacked Julian around a bit about the face.

Now, I generally like to live my life with the least amount of face beatings as possible, so I stopped writing comments on Carla’s MySpace page. In the meantime, Roscoe got a job working on a film in Canada and was to be away for a few months. Carla quickly forgave Roscoe for beating up Julian, and everything was fine between them. That is until a Canadian girl named Dawn started leaving comments on Roscoe’s MySpace page.

Continued in Part III