After the March



Cool water cascaded onto his throbbing head.  He leaned back into the steady flow and released a long slow exhale. He squeezed his puffy eyes shut, but that seemed to intensify the throbbing, so he opened them, allowing the water to stream directly in, not caring that he couldn’t see. It felt good, relieved some of the lingering burn, even. He’d never been hit with pepper spray before. Never been clubbed on the head with a police baton before, either.  First time for everything, he almost chuckled, but didn’t.

Lifting his fingers into the water, he tried to clean the dark reddish-brown stains from the edges of his nails. Then he massaged his temples for a full, slow minute.  Gradually, he moved his fingers to the back of his head and gingerly touched around the swollen wound. The pain pulsated under his touch. Nope, he thought, not going to touch that for a while.  He wondered how he’d be able to sleep. It felt like the entire back of his head was an open gash. Should’ve gone to get stitches on this. He knew it. His friends had urged him, but he just wanted to get home and curl up in bed. Tomorrow, stitches.

He turned up the heat and inhaled the steam. Deep breaths, he said to himself.  This too shall pass. What goes around comes around.  (Just inhale.) If violence is the language of the unheard, why is my head screaming at me? (Now exhale.) Why were the cops the violent ones? 

The glass wall of the shower completely fogged up, the increasing heat softly enveloping him in a cozy warmth that made him feel drowsy. Reaching down for the soap, he felt a surge of dizziness topple him forward.  Planting his hands firmly on the glass door, he held himself steady; took five or six more deep breaths. He reached down again, slower this time, then stood back up.  Fuck it, I’m done. 

Keeping one hand firmly on the glass door, he stepped out, one heavy foot at a time. The thick rug invited him to curl up right there, close the painful eyes; rest the throbbing head; fall into a deep, healing sleep. 

K. Kungie
June 3, 2020
Northridge, CA



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