Surprise Guest in 1996

I didn’t know the Napoleon complex was real until it had been nine years since I felt you towering over me. Nine years, but still that grainy cackle was as familiar as if it was yesterday that I heard it, and it stopped me dead.

I was 19 by then and so much taller. I held a cooler open for a little girl to get a soda, which you took advantage of to grab a drink yourself. You didn’t recognize me. There I was towering over you and your stupid mustache, turned gray from years. One could only hope from guilt as well, but people like you don’t let guilt sink in. No, not guilt because I clearly remember you sleeping soundly, snoring loudly. I remember you having the laughter of a person who must not feel heavy.

Something must have clicked for you though because soon you realized who I was. I could tell because it seemed like forever that you stood there staring, leaning against those sliding doors. The chatter around us continued and the people ate their macaroni salad from their paper plates and laughed, like everything was normal. They did not notice the buzzing between my ears that was so loud I shook. They did not notice your intensity. I chain smoked to feel connected to something outside myself, so I could believe my one thought: you have no power over me, motherfucker. But your eyes were all squinty staring at me, like you knew better.

But I wasn’t totally wrong because I knew I’d never be that girl again. Remember? That 4-, 5-, 6-, 7-year-old girl that just sat there while you tried to kill her? I could never be her, half dead already, just your fucking object to do with whatever you please. Without screams, or movements, or protests… Without hands raised to choking cords.

No, I could never be her again. I would set you on fire first and watch you burn from my height.