Innocence Makes Me Cry

I remember once I was on the train down to Ayr. Of course, I was already reasonably fragile because Ayr is a fucking ghost town for me. But I see this fat wee boy jump on the train, whip out a Nintendo DS, and loudly play it. Earphones in, but this boy is making a little tune with his mouth, reacting to every nuance of the game as if he is play-sparring. He has a packed lunch beside him and a bit of chocolate still on his face from the presumable demolition job I had just missed. He is having so much fun, and I was literally holding back tears. Why?

He was eight or nine, I reckon, maybe that’s it. Before bullying existed. Before, many were smart enough to be self-conscious. I look at him and see the impending insults that will no doubt greet him in the years to come. He is chubby, loud and silly in a world only accepting of this due to his child membership. Soon this will expire, he won’t get the email notifications alerting him of this massive change; no, it will just happen. Suddenly, those shoes will be laughable. The game he is playing on his DS will now be the markings of a homosexual, apparently. His weight will now be the go-to response to any conflict he falls into. Thoughts he was previously unaware of and incapable of digesting will now be readily available. His reflection will ask rigorous questions and demand appeasing answers. 

I am envious of his freedom and heartbroken by his fate. 

This memory does overwhelm me; this is not an artistic exaggeration. The memory makes me want to cry. Many similar memories, things I see daily of similar ilk garner the same sinking feeling. The helplessness of knowing what will happen, yet, having no right to interfere. Like watching a herd of lions prey on an injured gazelle, you may not like the imagery, but it is simply the way the world is. 

I am so interwoven with criticism, on guard, cycling through debates in my head over and over again that when I see a wee boy having fun, it is sour. The smile fades instantly towards pity and pity for the way the world is and the way I am. 

Some are guilty scorpions, and many are innocent frogs. 

I must confess that I am a guilty scorpion. I have a reluctant bond with insecurity, a connection formed through self-victimisation. For the most part, I treat others the way I treat myself, which means Yes, I did notice that spot on your head, how you had gained weight, your funny walk and that tense expression you made when I brought up your ex-partner. By all means, I will refrain from verbalising my ancestral analyses from those I deem more sensitive. The innocents will remain innocent; they do not need to be in the game. 

To rid me of my guilt, my irrefutable mind, I must become a cannibalising scorpion instead. 

Cheers.