The day of the swamp incident I arrived home smelling of sewer; what do you expect, it was a five mile walk baking in the summer heat. The moment my dad looked at me I started crying. I meant to sneak in unnoticed, throw away my clothes and take a shower.
“What happened to you?”
“I fell in the swamp”.
“No you didn’t, Mrs. Duran saw them throw you in, she called me. What did you say that made them mad at you?”
“I didn’t do anything!” through tears. I knew it was coming. That fucked up thing he always said. Through every beating for being half black, every assault for being a Jehovah’s Witness and black eyes for being effeminate.
“You said something.”
“I told you, nothing!” I’m full of boiling rage. Here it comes.
“It takes two to tangle”
“Stop saying that! You say it every time I get beat up!”
“You irritated them somehow.”
“They’re mean! I don’t have to say anything-
“You did something.”
-they know I have to turn the other cheek!"
“It’s the way you look at them.”
“I wish YOU had a bully!”