Angry Man
I get these thoughts. Far more often than i would like.
What thoughts?
Bloody ones. Ones that make me fizz. For example I was a at a gig in Vicar Street recently. I don’t remember the name of the band, I was with my girl and I was there for her…some post modern folk rock band she liked who I remember never hearing of and obviously have forgotten about since.
We had pushed into the middle of the crowd. It was tame and there was a couple standing near us.
The guy was a little taller than me with hipster shmig and accompanying tash. At the intro of every song, when the musicians would tinkle on the chords elaborately before entering the familiar rhythm to the fans, he became almost orgasm.
‘Awww … Awwww’ he’d say swaying with eyeballs vibrating in their sockets and announce to those blessed in his immediate vicinity the name of the song. He always seemed so proud of himself and so did his date as she giggled with confirmation and fawned over his call outs.
My mind broke with reality and I fluttered into one of my daydreams. I don’t know what I look like when this happens, I imagine I just looked super focused as I stared ahead at the stage. But inside I was looking at myself walking through the house of my friend. They had recently bought a place, him and his wife I mean, and the usual gang and our respective partners were there.
The walkway to the living-room blurred by me with framed pictures of their young daughter on the walls and I could hear the murmurs of conversation and whacks of laughter. I was walking alone, I don’t know how I got into the house but that’s how it goes.
I entered and I was hit with light and warmth and that nice feeling you get when you see people you like for the first time in a while. Smiles met me from two packed couches. “Ahoys” were called from the kitchen. A hand reached for mine and then I was pulled into a thick hug.
A tin was put in my hand and my coat taken from me and now I’m talking to a friend but I don’t know which one … dreams are funny like this no?
They are what they are … the important aspects are shown to us.
Who said that?
Me.
Oh. Well as I’m chatting I notice the guy from the concert is in the room. He’s sitting on a chair talking to another one of my friends. This friend I see is Sean and that makes sense as Sean can be politely described as argumentative at times and so my brain throws me this little bit of logic which is nice.
I walk over to Tom and we start chatting about Spotify playlists and his little princess. Tom is the kind of guy who’s always jolly and smiley and he’s as kind as he is tall. In the dream I suddenly become drawn to the argument between the concert guy and Sean. I seem to be the only one so I’m not sure if its because they’re raising their voices or not. There was laughter from a group of the girls. Yes no one noticed but me and now I cant take my eyes off the two of them as they both stab the air in front of them with outstretched index’s to solidify their points.
The guy from the concert took a drag from a smoke he had and blew it forward into Sean’s face. Sean didn’t react. But then he said something that I couldn’t hear. The guy from the concert stood up and as he did so grabbed his bottle by the neck and smashed it on the side of his chair. He went for Sean with his right arm raised, the jagged glass an extension of his fist.
I was there. This part happened in slow motion and fast at the same time. I came between them and brought up my left arm grabbing the wrist that held the bottle. I struck the side of his right knee with a kick and he dropped down onto it as if he were proposing marriage. I brought his hand down to meet my rising knee and the bottle slipped from his grip. With my other hand, my right one, my strongest, I ploughed into his solar plexus and then grabbed him by the throat and squeezed. I could see the pain on his face as he lost breath while needing to breath in and I pulled him towards me a little so I could look him in the eyes when I spoke.
“Thats my good friend,” I said. “He’s one of the best people I know. You could’ve blinded him, nicked an artery or cut his windpipe. Or worse, you could’ve missed and mauled someone else … someone unsuspecting.” I then threw him back and he crashed into the wall behind him, a look of relief and shock muddled together on his face.
During the violent parts my brain skips and starts again like a computer. I come back to the concert and I notice my fist is clenched and my jaw vibrating. There is sour in my mouth. And then I’m back inside the dream.
He got to his feet and looked at me as if he were trying to solve an equation. He took a step forward and threw a right cross, I watched it come towards me. As I brought up my left forearm to shield my other pounded into his body again. I then cupped under his chin as if I were going to kiss him but I turned my body into him and dropped; pulling over my right shoulder. I stood up with him on me, like he were a sack of potatoes, grasping the back of his shirt tightly. In a swift and forceful move I stepped forward and leaned forward and threw him off me so that the flat of his back planted firmly on the floorboards with a loud thump. He groaned, the music was no longer playing. In a panoramic gaze I looked my friends in the eye one-by-one with shame.
Why shame?
Because of what I’d done.
This is your dream. They are supposed to see this.
I think the setup is justification.
Justification?
I don’t think its about having an audience. I think my mind creates the scenario of him attacking my friend so that I feel its ok for me to hurt him, to react the way dream-me did.
I see.
That way I’m not a complete asshole … but still … I don’t like violence.
What happened next in the dream?
Nothing. I came back to the concert as the final song was being finished.
Did you speak to the gentleman?
I said excuse me as we squeezed past.
Did he respond?
He said no problem and stepped to the side.
How did that make you feel.
I don’t know. Nothing I guess. I didn’t expect anything. I just … I never thought of myself as an angry man. But this happens and it makes me wonder about myself you know. And then I worry that what if something like what happens in my dreams happens in real life and what if I go too far so that all that is left is the curdling screams of a mother in a church?
Cathal … you’re the angriest man I’ve ever met.