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Revenge in the face of love

published: 2009-09-12

At a farewell party the other night, I chatted with a gay couple. They had a dog, a Doberman if I’m not to be mistaken. Or in the very least a mix of such. When a heavyset man in black entered the bar, the dog barked and growled. One of the two gays took the dog between his legs, stroked it gently and coo-ed to it, “don’t worry, it’s only Eric.” He looked up at Eric and said, “he doesn’t seem to recognize you.”
An affectionate parent, is what I thought, how sweet.
If my son were to be of Doberman quality, I’m sure I’d stroke him that same way. Yesterday, my man and I went to see the new Tarantino film. Our son is staying over at his grandparents. 
He did it again, I kept thinking about Tarantino while watching how nazis were being scalpeled. Naturally, the sympathetic heroine had to be shot down too. Tarantino kills the darling of sentimentality. His films are always about revenge.
I once had a discussion with my writing mentor. She said, “forgiveness is unnatural. It’s a religious construct aimed solely at controlling the masses.” I’m sure Tarantino would agree.
On returning home after having marveled at the film, I stepped into my son’s room. I had left it the mess it was. Hus duvet was half open, his pillow dented from where he had laid his head that afternoon. Stray socks. Underwear that had fallen out of his cupboard after I’d asked him to go and get one. I called my man.
“Come here for a moment,” I said. He came into the room looking worried.
He did, and we both smiled.

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