Comfortable Madness First PDF 4-13-18

Crossing the Line
In English, we talked about poetry and madness. We talked
about Ginsberg and his mother. We read Kaddish and the sadness
nearly killed me.
“Ginsberg was a fag,” Coy said.
Mac frowned. Mac didn’t tolerate this kind of shit.
“Do you think you’re funny?” Mac asked.
“What?” Coy asked. “I was just saying.”
“You’re always just saying,” Mac said.
Mac was a bit of a dandy, prone to paisley shirts and khakis
and bow ties. Thin black hair flared around his head in wisps. He
was small and thin with dainty-like hands, but his eyes were bright
and fierce.
Tayla stood because that’s what she did. She stood up to
people like Coy.
“Tayla,” Mac said.
“The dyke stands,” Coy said.
I was sick and scared, but I got out of my chair. I got out of
my chair and went to Coy.
Coy was a small boy with big ears and a nose with which
he could’ve caught fish. I stood over him. Tayla came and pressed
her hand to my spine, straightening me.
“You need to shut up,” I said.
“And the fat one speaks,” Coy said.
He smirked and looked around for approval. No one said
anything. I punched him in the nose. Bone crunched. Blood
flowed. Everyone gasped.
“Jesus,” Coy said.
A weird thickness filled the room. No one moved. No one
breathed. I was out of my body watching the whole thing from a
corner but by the lights. Tayla laughed.
“You fucking hit me,” Coy said.