cagefighter, starla, kick to the face while wearing these bad-boys

June 23, 2007 | Filed Under ordinary 

late last night (maybe not so late, the day feeling long with the light) ernie was watching some kind of fake wrestling show with toothy men in little shiny plastic shorts and tall boots smack each other down with open palms and pointed elbows. one had giant teeth to flaunt and ernie said that this one would win because he was the one who was knocked down and slammed into the most in the beginning. it was a tag-team wrestling match, the tagging they could have worked on acting-wise, as well as the fake slapping (why can i see that cheering woman in the audience when i should be seeing nothing but fist to cheek?). the man in red from head to toe was especially bad at pretending to make contact. the old man with horribly dyed blonde hair was good, his long career in the sport paying off as we watched. the man with the teeth, the supposed underdog, the one who had hair like my brother had before he cut it off to get a new job only to learn that he could have worn a hairnet, this one waived a golden belt in the air and howled at the moon, the champion. such lousy acting and horrible costuming and relative hideousness, we were entertained by it (i only somewhat as i was distracted as i flipped through the latest about european vacation places that are family friendly, ways to pitch tents of all kinds for star gazers in the backyard and where to find white ceramic tea service for little hands) and others most certainly were entertained by it, paying for tickets to sit close enough for sweat and glitter. there’s something about watching someone get slapped or kicked or smashed by another person that entertains us. maybe it’s because it’s so totally unacceptable to do that to another person ourselves that we get satisfaction from watching it in “acceptable” ways.

the rain has stopped. it’s hot and sunny, everything green and tall. the fans blow hot hair through the house all day as we wait for nightfall and all that comes with it: boys that don’t move arms and legs (that grow longer), silence, the cat, surgically tamed, now, lying still on the floor instead of attacking every flex of toe, cicadas in the thick pecan trees, late night talking in the dark and cool of the yard, the distant smells of tobacco, tomato leaf, night twisting together and sailing starward.

it’s summer now, the way a summer should be, the hose muddying puddle places each afternoon, sunhats, the white noises of the fans from room to room, popsicles in the freezer, along with cans of limeade for long sour sipping.

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