I have no language for affection, but I do know how to throw a fist. The way my father taught me some years ago, when he took my hand in his and curled my fingers into my palm gently. This is another type of romance, I suppose. The rules of engagement handed down from a man who learned them from a man before him. Don’t leave your thumb out. Don’t hit anyone wearing glasses in the face. I was told to fight only when I had to, but who is to determine when one has to, really? I have to fight because I do not have the language for anything else but violence, and so when the boy I wanted to like me
...more
