You’d better not get into that at a party. Don’t even start that stuff. And definitely don’t try to make a joke out of it, like you’re above feeling strongly about it or that you really just can’t be bothered to care.
Everybody ended up punching everybody. What a party that was. I didn’t start it but standing in the corner with your hands over your ears doesn’t get you a free pass from the melee. I saw some guy bust a speaker on somebody’s head and a couple of soaking wet people came staggering in like zombies swinging curtain rods around after they drove their SUV into the pool. Some chick’s gold tooth came whizzing past my head as I was trying to get around the slime these kids were making kicking the crap out of a watermelon screaming something about morality.
And lest I be unclear about this particular night I will say that nobody was confused about how it started. Somebody said something that everybody felt strongly about, one way or the other, and suddenly everybody was a champion of the cause. Everybody had to defend their little sisters and waggle their necks and get their claws in and it was justice served. And nobody tried to stop it because we all figured that wars are meant to determine a victor and if we didn’t fight no one would win.
When the story went into the paper the next day there was only one clear perpetrator, one person who was blamed for the whole mess: me. It was my fault because I never picked a side, because I never did anything to further either cause, and I never tried to stop it. All of that was true, of course, but I also never tried to shove a corncob down anybody’s throat or get somebody’s ear with a pair of garden shears.
I didn’t contest that story though, because I’d simply rather get blamed than get self-righteous. Sometimes I think people forget that we’re all going to die.