Confessions of an Optimistic Pessimist

I once started a food fight
Of biblical proportion
When I was 11.
Think, the cafeteria scene
In Animal House.
Thats what we’re dealing with here.
It was my brother’s fifteenth birthday party.
My grandmother, who always
aspired to be a caterer,
Made a large and awe-inspiring cake.
Of course,
Our entire family attended the party
And looking back, I never knew how
We could all cram into such a small house.
My brother invited his dear friend,
A beautiful girl with pale skin, dark hair
And blue eyes. I had always wanted
A sister and clung onto
My brothers’ girlfriends,
Whether it be at the movies as a tag along
Or smoking a pipe on a queen bed
And sharing secrets.
The two were sitting on the deck,
Chatting. I could tell that the two
Were jostled by teenage awkwardness
But i felt happy to see him have friends.
Then, my cousin (who was also 11)
Interjected himself into the conversation.
Looking back, admittedly, he was embarrassing himself enough
Flirting with my brother’s girlfriend.
But I saw the look of discomfort and defeat
In couple’s eyes.
A spark of anger.
My adolescent fingers flew,
sinking Into the fluffy carrot cake
And I watched the amorphous pastry
Soar and land on his bare chest.
All eyes were wide in surprise–
Mine also. I couldnt believe I had done that.
I watched my cousins chest heave,
Nostrils flare and eyes wet
in embarrassment.
And just as easily as it begun
A rain of cake and frosting rained upon
My grandparent’s backyard.
When all the adults exited the kitchen
And bore witness to the carnage,
We got our asses severely whooped.
I dont think my parents ever knew
That i inflicted a seige to
Protect my brother’s honor.

I am impulsive.
I am fiery.
I talk with a silver tongue
That cuts like a dagger.
But, I always mean well.
And I like that about myself.