I released my grip on Dexter’s grandmother’s JC-Penny-Sale dinner plate. As it fell to the ground I could feel the tender muscle tissue of my trapezius tug at my rigid thoracic discs, unevenly. This caused my shoulder blades to reach for one another, pulling out towards the small kitchen window, whose shades are closed once more. Spasming up, and out beyond comfort, my tension shoots up with the rate of my heart. Droplets of sweat form around my brow before terminal velocity is reached by nutritious disc. Scapula stretching out, I can’t control them. Subconsciously, my body was trying to make wings, so I hoped. I wanted to get out.
With each recollection of past disturbances, passive aggressive, lack of respect, my heart speeds up. They just might be wings. I just might get out without having to harm one of the infected lords. I want them to grow.
The time is too late to grab the plate, it is now a necessary fate. A tool of the coldest war in Florida’s recorded history, of such silly things. But still just a plate. A puncture to the ego, through history’s emotional back door. Abandoning my usual method of forked tongued deluge. A semi-automatic vernacular, a superpower born in the fallout of battles within the gardens of adolescent beasts. Cutting deeper than years of friendship could grow.
The final second before touching the ground, a realization that this now pushes me over the line, this puts me into the “asshole zone.” An unwanted destination, which I have so well avoided on this years long journey into myself. The time I spent looking into the each breath, and finding peace, an inner calmness that allows me to go about his day with a little bit of weed and a few 15-minute moments inside this body, inside my own happy self.
As the plate connects with loose tile flooring, it's weakness is easily exploited. Shards and chunks of factory produced blandness to pierce through my work, thirty human minutes over the stove building a meal for myself. I have allowed pettiness to infiltrate the my locally cultivated nutrition and it’s time to move on.