will not -- cannot -- surrender

 

As he talked

and talked

at me

his brow furrowed and his color ran high.

The rant gained momentum.

I could feel him

feed it.

At its crest his neck looked like a sunburn and

two scarlet dots painted his cheeks:

rage rouge.

 

He was,

as we do,

working himself up to a

declaration of sorts.

All the usual cliches about thunderheads apply.

I will not -- no, I cannot -- surrender!

he cried.

 

I shrugged.

Unimpressed.

Nonplussed.

Disinterested in this performance art piece

having seen it many times and performed it myself

years ago

to smatterings of applause and

tepid reviews in my out-of-town tryouts.

(Everybody's a critic.)

 

I will not -- I cannot -- surrender!

It's not who I am

how I roll

what I do

how I goal

orient myself.

I have achieved and purchased and financed and leased!

I have big and important and special and brand!

I have more than you do -- I am more than you are -- than anyone does than anyone is

in that sad circle of chairs.

 

As is often the case

in moments like this,

the chin is up,

the shoulders back;

a noble tableaux

of delusion and defiance.

Who, exactly, are you rebelling against? I sometimes want to ask.

But then I think how disinterested I am in their answer, and

leave the question

for them to discover for themselves

if they make it.

 

You will not -- cannot -- surrender?

I Echo

his Narcissus.

 

No!

Okay, then. Don't.

Huh? Wha? Buh?

Then don't, I shrug, already wishing I was

home with a book and a cup and a cat in my lap.

Their defiance was a warm blanket to them but I've never been much for reruns.

 

Don't?

Don't.

And if you win, then congrats and huzzah and my hat is off to you;

I'll send you a card.

And if you lose,

and if you live,

there is a chair for you there,

in that circle of chairs,

reserved for all those who,

like me,

had their ass fully kicked until they realized

the fight was in fact over a long time ago.

Confidentially, I said, leaning in,

sotto voce,

I lost pretty much right after I stepped into the ring.

All the rest was just the press release my pride tried to issue,

with my face pressed against the canvas long after the final bell.

(Do not ask for whom the bell... aw hell. Skip it.)

 

Don't surrender?

He looked so stunned. Apparently my verbal right cross was the wrong line.

I guess I'd gone off book.

He couldn't process this uscripted opposite in his contempt

following investigation.

I suspect I was cast as salesman for the cause or

sympathy for the rebel.

Sadly, I really

suck at those now.

 

Nope.

Don't surrender till you know you've lost.

Cliche, I know, but that is then

the first moment when

you might

have a fighting chance.

Good luck!

 

He sat there, poleaxed, unsure if I mocked or misunderstood

his brave speech.

 

I left a tip for the waiter and headed home.

There was fresher company

in my book

that night.

 

 

Comments

[Orbus]

Your writing is superb. That was valuable to read. Thx MrSP.

[daisyanon]

Excellent!

Both the content and the style.

[Sister Mary Bonster]

Kept me on the edge of my seat......
Loved it!!

[Pat O.]

That was me! NEVER give up. NEVER give in. You can't make me! (Her majesty the baby)
That's okay, alcohol did it for me - I was surrendered. Luckily, I was still alive.
Great post and thank you