Someone, the other day, forgot what a Man of Peace I am, and they asked me what the most violent event I have ever been involved in was. I was stumped. Boy, that is hard, as in difficult, to answer. I mean, where do I start? I'm just a big pussy-cat, who pets kittens, and babies fall asleep on me as I hold them. I like flowers. And not just ones that eat flies.
I have observed moments of Ultra-Violence that would curl your hair. As a freshman, I watched a HS senior rare back and kick the chin off of a teacher he had just beaten to the ground. Off. Oh eff eff, off. And for his troubles, the judge sentenced him to Viet Nam, where a Viet Cong machine-gunner opened him up like a can of beans, and finished him off with three rounds just above the eyebrows. And the guy lived. And eventually came out of his coma. Still fucked up, though.
Hmmmm, lessee...I have seen blood hosing off a man's chin as if he was drinking water from a hose, and the runoff poured down his face.
I was doing a ride-along one night in a tough California city. I was looking for a cop job, but I was still a civvie. My car got a call for assistance, and we headed to the address of this high school, and soon the call came out 'all units', and you could hear four barrel carburetors go to afterburner status all over town, and sirens kicking on as multiple street warriors switched into ass-kicking mode.
It was a riot. Literally. One bunch of beaners had rented the gym for a dance, and another bunch of beaners, likely a rival gang, had shown up to raise heck. And much heck was raised. It was surreal, seeing guys in suits and ties, and girls in fancy dresses, beating the shit out of each other. Cops began to arrive, and I was likely the only person within a mile to be unarmed.
My ride-along partner unlocked the shotgun, with the secret button, and tossed it at me. I caught it one-handed, and he said "Consider yourself deputized..." and we swung into the fray, and many beaners were butt-stroked into oblivion. And none of them gave me an excuse to shoot them. Dammit.
Then we heard more sirens, off in the distance, getting louder by the second. Uh-oh. CHP.
The CHP are so bored with their jobs, giving tickets, and risking death quite literally as they approached each car they stopped, that they love nothing more than a good fight. When you see them, it is kinda like seeing Visigoths burst through your gates. Well, this is one time we were happy to see them. And they waded in like they were taking a beachhead. Many lumps were distributed, free of charge.
Okay, I think I've got it: in High School, my friend and I were headed out across the parking lot, to the woods, to have a smoke. We were just moseying along, and suddenly, several big redneck-style pickups came roaring up and surrounded us...ambush.
Each truck was full of assholes, and my friend and I put our backs together, and pulled our knives. When faced by a superior force, cheat. And it was on...
Now, my friend and I both knew each other well, and we knew we needed to get into the trees, where their numerical advantage would be somewhat neutralized. They didn't want us to get there. We were trained fighters, who worked out every day, they were brawlers, who had learned knife fighting from the movies. Still, numbers, eh?
When people say 'it was a blur', that is really what it is. Blurs, mixed with Technicolor freeze-frames, or snippets of video. I remember a guy blindsiding my friend, who was facing another guy armed with a knife, and him kicking the knife out of my friend's hand.
I remember my friend reaching up into the air for the knife with his other hand, catching the knife, and turning and slicing his ambusher across the belly, through his Hawaiian shirt, a move we had practiced many times. My friend's hand would be in a cast for quite awhile after this fight. So we took a stiletto apart and mounted the blade into his cast, so all he had to do was shake his hand, and the blade would snap out. And as he healed, he busted more than one head with that cast.
As for my part of the fight, the assholes seemed to want to kick at me, so I'd deflect their foot, and stab them in the back of their thigh. Game over. I have no idea how long it lasted, but eventually, due to attrition, they all retreated, yelling brave things at us.
I think I got sliced a couple of times, and I vaguely recall nearly severing someone's carotid. My knife looked like a paintbrush that needed to be cleaned. Much of my clothing had been sliced up, but my wounds were only superficial. Butterfly bandage stuff. I may have broken a couple of kneecaps. Not mine.
The sun was out, the sky was blue, it was a beautiful day.