HOW I TRIED TO BE KIND by Michael Hemmingson

a.
I wanted to be kind but all I could achieve was cruelty. I wanted to be kind to the friend who had been dumped by a guy she thought she would marry and grow old with, only to realize all he wanted from her was sex; I acted concerned and hugged my friend and we got drunk and then I fucked her; she called me this other guy’s name the whole time and when she left, she never talked to me again because a month later she committed suicide, leaving a letter blaming that guy for destroying her soul. I couldn’t go to the funeral and mutual friends left me nasty text messages and emails. I sent flowers to the funeral parlor because that seemed like the kind thing to do.

b.
Her sister smeared dog shit on the windshield of my car. That was not a kind thing to do but I understood.

c.
I tried to be kind to a young woman who was jogging with her dog and the dog was hit by a car that sped off. I told her I could drive her and the dog to the vet and she yelled at me: “My dog is already dead, you goddamn jerk!”

I did not understand this; I was trying to be a good person and she acted like it was my fault. I told her to fuck off. That was a kind thing to do because she would later meditate on why I said it and realize what she did wrong. She will never treat a stranger offering kindness like that again, should another dog of hers ever get killed by a car.

d.
A guy at work was in a jam. He was short on his rent by $210. His landlord was not happy that he always paid the rent late and told him he would be evicted if it happened again. I loaned him the $210. He promised to pay it back. A week later, he stopped coming to work and people said he had moved to a different state where rent was cheaper.

e.
There was a small island that was hit by both a hurricane and an earthquake the same week. Two-thirds of the 23,000 people who lived on the island had their homes destroyed and were living in Red Cross tents. I sent the Red Cross $100 through its website.

The next morning I sent another $100 because I didn’t think the first was enough.

f.
There was a snail on the sidewalk. Someone had stepped on it: its shell crushed, green fluid oozing out like sap from a tree, eyestalks looking frantically about for safety. I stepped on it and killed it.

That was the kind thing to do, like shooting, in the head, a horse with a broken leg.

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http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michael_Hemmingson

TONKA TRUCKS by Michael Hemmingson

We were both
three or four
and beat each other senseless
with our big yellow Tonka trucks, our young mothers
amazed we had no bruises,
cuts or broken bones.
This is what my mother tells me, anyway;
I have no memory of this
other boy I played violent Tonka trucks with
as if we were mini sumo wrestlers
covered in armor.
I do remember the trucks,
thick and hard diecast metal,
American made in a time
before outsourcing—ah, the notion of
inferior toys from Asian sweatshops
makes me feel like I am four or five again,
drinking sour milk and puking
like a poisoned prisoner inside Abu Gahrib.
I wonder if that other boy’s mother
told him the same,
amazed at the resilience of
tiny young bodies
too innocent to know better,
and if he yearns, as I do,
for the days of strength and simplicity.

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http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michael_Hemmingson

SHAME (AN EMAIL SENT BY A FRIEND) by Michael Hemmingson

each hour is a room of shame and I am

swimming, swimming, holding my head up…

- Sharon Olds, “Known to Be Left”

I saved a woman from drowning at the hotel pool in Portland. It was a curious event. A lot of people were swimming, playing, hanging out and no one else seemed to notice the woman except her young daughter who was wading nearby, looking terrified. No splashing, vertical, unable to keep her mouth above the waterline. I jumped in and managed to eventually get us both to the pool’s edge like we were Cambodians fleeing the Khmer Rouge killing fields. She looked at my eyes and made a small noise like a hamster in a door jam. The woman spoke no English. She nodded thanks and held to the wall a few more minutes while I watched her with chlorine concern. Nobody there took any notice. The woman swam very slowly and with considerable difficulty back to the shallow end. I drifted along behind her like a tugboat to make sure she arrived safely (considering she could barely swim). Once able to stand in the water, she rejoined her husband at the shallow end and avoided looking in my direction until she left with her family an hour later. A simple glance of embarrassed grace.

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Michael Hemmingson's blog is http://mhemmingson.wordpress.com.