Excerpt from: Who Would I Be Without

The following is an excerpt from Who Would I Be Without which is a published work and benefits from all copyright protection afforded it.

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26

“I could drop off the sand bag I have tonight if you want,” Justin offered in response to Nathan’s story. Six days had passed since his experience with the racket and Nathan was growing eager to explore his hidden anger.

“Really, you don’t mind letting me use it?” Nathan said, hoping Justin would withdraw the offer.

“Sure. I could come by probably around six or so with it. I’ll bring the bat too.”

“Bat?” Nathan asked, picturing a child’s plastic bat in his mind.

“Yep. I have a small aluminum bat I used to hit the bag. It’s not full size, more like a kid’s bat, but it works good because it is small enough to swing hard and not do too much damage to the bag.” Justin smiled a soft smile and his eyes stared forward as if looking at the memory now playing in his mind.

“Alright, I guess. I’ll have to hang it in the garage I think. I really don’t have much room in the basement.”

“That should work fine. I had it in the basement because it was winter, but now that I think about it, I did feel a little confined. Your garage should be great for you.”

The three of them finished their eggs, and the morning conversation shifted to more-general topics. They met for breakfast today in addition to their weekly evening get-togethers simply because they could. All three of them were out of work and they were just fine with not working at this point in their lives. Their journeys briefly paralleled in this area as they watched Nathan lose his job, then Justin left his due to a pain in his heel that he now realized was psychologically self-inflicted so he could leave the job. Brian lost his job a few weeks later. They often laughed when they reviewed the natural flow of happenings in their lives. They watched as their experiences aligned perfectly with all they were exploring and learning.

f

Justin pulled in the driveway as Nathan was heading out to open the garage door in anticipation of his arrival.

“Hey, Justin, what’s up,” Nathan said, greeting him as he got out of the car.

“Not too much, I have that sand bag and bat for you.”

They stepped around to the trunk and Justin picked up the bag and handed it to Nathan. It was smaller and heavier than Nathan expected. He almost dropped it on the way to the garage, chuckling inside when the muscles in his arms hurt during the short walk to the garage.

Justin grabbed the small aluminum bat, closed the trunk, and followed Nathan down the drive past the house and into the single-car garage. They dropped the things on the workbench and discussed Nathan’s options for hanging it before moving to the front yard again.

“Well,” Justin said, “I’m gonna get going. I’m guessing you’ll want to get started hanging the bag so I’ll let you get to that.”

“Yep,” Nathan replied, smiling as Justin climbed in the car.

They nodded their goodbyes as Justin backed out of the drive and sped off down the street. With nothing else to do, Nathan headed to the garage.

It was a pale brown burlap bag tied at the top with a single piece of heavy yellow twine. The twine was thick, more like cord, and the knot around the top of the bag was big and bulky. Duct tape wrapped around the knot and the top of the bag provided extra strength and support. Must be so the bag won’t slip through the knot, Nathan thought as he muscled the bag into an upright position on the workbench.

The burlap was worn out in places but still strong; Justin, or somebody, had written on the bag in red and black marker. The words were faded and Nathan did not spend any time trying to read them. He grabbed the single cord and began considering how he would hang the bag at the perfect height for hitting.

He had to use the stepladder to support the bag, and it took a few rather strenuous procedures of lifting and fighting with the bag, but he eventually got it up and hanging at the
appropriate height. With the ladder and tools put away, he stood looking at the bag, now hanging even with the mid-section of his body.

He grabbed one of the plastic chairs from the patio and brought it into the garage, lit a smoke, and sat in the chair facing the bag. The plastic chair was very hot from the August sun and he had to sit and get up a few times in quick succession to allow his legs to absorb and equalize the temperature. With that done, he sat with the bat leaning against his thigh, smoking and watching the bag rotate slowly as it swayed from side to side.

I can do this, he thought.

Why not? Just get up and start swinging.

No, I can’t.

It’s silly and pointless.

Get up, go in the house and do something else.

I’m not going to do this because it’s dumb.

Wait, don’t listen to that.

I know what happened with the racket in the bedroom.

Shifted a lot of energy.

It erupted.

Yea, but that was a different day.

I was having lots of feelings that day. Today I am okay and this doesn’t feel right.

No, don’t listen to that.

It doesn’t matter how I feel right now.

Just get up and try it, see what happens.

Nathan smoked the cigarette down to its final puff while his mind demonstrated its propensity to delay. He dropped the cigarette on the floor, stood up and took the bat in both hands. He gripped it in a manner that felt most comfortable if he swung from his left, but it was clear to him that the bat was small enough to swing from either side without much effort. He stood facing the bag, waiting, telling himself to move past the internal resistance of his ego and take the step before him.

The muscles in his body and arms tightened as he twisted to his left and swung, striking the bag in an upward stroke. He hit the bag three times, all the while thinking, this is silly. He kept swinging; four, five, six.

Nathan noticed the muscles in his face were tight, especially the ones around his mouth that pulled the corners back in a squint-causing grimace. He twisted back and to the left again and let the bat fly into the bag.

One, two, three quick swings and suddenly, on the fourth, the energy and force of the swing increased. The force surprised him when the bat hit the bag with a crack the other swings did not produce. The vibration from the bat hurt his hands and without thought, he recoiled and swung in rapid fire with a force and strength that surpassed all of his previous swings.

One, two, three, four, five. He counted the swings. Each one growing in force, each one matching the tension and energy building inside him.

The last three strikes vibrated the bat to the point the pain was unbearable. Nathan took a few softer swings and learned that hitting it on a slight upward angle, as he did with the first swing, did not cause the painful vibration. He took a few harder test swings to be sure before he realized he was back in his head, avoiding the feelings by analyzing the swings and the bag. He continued swinging, hoping to reconnect with the feelings that began to surface before his fear stepped in to protect him through analysis.

One, two, three medium-energy swings and the tension returned.

Four, five.

A surge of angry energy erupted, and it swung the bat harder than Nathan could have imagined.

One, two, three… In the middle of the fourth swing a scream whaled up from his core and roared out of his mouth in a long, drawn-out release—

“AAAAHHHHHH!”

Four.

Three very quick and draining swings followed the gut-wrenching scream. He swung so fast, there was very little recoil twisting between swings. It was more like hitting the bag than swinging the bat, and it stopped as quickly as it began. Nathan stood with the bat hanging from his left hand. His body was shaking and he was crying.

“Oh my,” he said aloud. “What was that?”

He sat down and lit another cigarette thinking, Okay, I didn’t expect that at all. That freaked me out a little. I don’t like that at all, but I know something about it is good. I don’t want to do any more. It doesn’t matter. Stay with it, this is happening because it is time for it to happen. You wouldn’t be here, the bag and bat wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t time. You have to ignore the thoughts of fear and just do it more and see. What’s the worst that could happen?

No. Don’t do it anymore. I’ve done it. I can now go and tell everyone what I did. It will make a great story and they will all think I’m so brave and enlightened to allow myself to do what I just did. It was enough. Stop now. Go do something else. I need to get a job, my money is going to run out, and sitting here, hitting a stupid bag, is not going to get that done.

His inner dialogue was extreme, reminding him of days past when it was normal for his thoughts to flow so quickly and so radically. He sat smoking a second cigarette he did not remember lighting, and halfway through he dropped it on the floor, stood up, and closed the garage door. If I am going to scream, I don’t want the neighbors to think I need help or I’m killing someone in here. He laughed at the thought, twisted to his left, and began swinging again with both hands. This time it took only two swings for the energy to return. A strange feeling began to emerge from his core with each swing, and he felt it flowing out through his arms. It was rage in its purist form, released from its guarded fortress deep within for the first time in his life. It poured out with a frightening force.

The swings came in rapid succession, and Nathan was out of control as he swung the bat as fast and as hard as he could. The swings came faster and faster. Impact after impact, he felt the energy pouring out through his arms. He wanted more and could not stop. His body yearned to let the lifetime of pent-up energy out. His arms pushed harder and harder with each swing. His legs held him in place like tree trunks holding their ground in the wind, and his feet clenched inside his shoes, trying desperately to hold his body in place.

The swings came so fast he could no longer count. Counting didn’t matter; the swings, the hitting, the rush of energy and anger was all that mattered. Nathan could not stop. His mind told him that was enough for now, but it carried little authority compared to the energy taking him over. A few more swings and he finally did stop. He stood shaking and holding the bat in both hands in front of his body. He could not move. He was breathing heavily and adrenalin filled his body as it shook in its effort to recover.

He moved to the chair and leaned the bat against the wall. His body was exhausted. He slouched in the chair with his arms hanging over the sides and watched the sweat and tears drip into his lap as his body worked to cool itself in the summer heat. The weeping evolved into crying, which freed even more energy. Nathan lit another cigarette, knowing it would neutralize his emotions.

Halfway through his third cigarette, he stood up again, took the bat in his hands, and began swinging. The rage surfaced again after only a few swings. Unlike before, when the energy was simple in its purity, this time thoughts played a role in summoning his emotional fuel, and images of Kim appeared.

Harder, I need to swing harder, he thought. I want to do it harder and faster. Faster, faster, faster. He could not swing hard enough or fast enough to feel the release he knew he needed and wanted. His inability to reach the intensity he needed added to his anger and crying. Dust from the sand in the bag was beginning to fill the garage, and Nathan kept swinging; fifteen, twenty, twenty-five. Thoughts of Kim filled his mind when a final surge of rage took over and Nathan screamed, “Fuck You!” He growled from deep in his belly and the words erupted through his clenched jaw and grinding teeth with each swing in a repeating rhythm, growing louder with each strike.

The pace slowed through the last five swings, allowing the intensity and focus to increase as he recoiled into each and swung as hard and forceful as he could. He struck the bag screaming “fuck” on one impact and “you” on the next. The last two strikes took all the strength he had left and his body suddenly stopped. He could no longer hold the bat up, let alone swing it. Nathan stood there with the bat in his hands and the bag swaying and spinning erratically.

He moved to the chair and leaned the bat against the wall. Sweat ran down the insides of his arms, down his forehead into his eyes, and dripped off his chin into his lap. He was exhausted beyond anything he had ever experienced. His body trembled from withdrawal as he sat in the chair crying, terrified of how deep his anger might go.