I do directly attribute my problems with the police and school officials in my teen years and early twenties to this false promise of height. The world had let me down, and I didn’t trust it or respect it. And I lashed out. Sure, it might seem foolish to you now, but I was full of anger and disappointment.
Now, after two broken marriages, a little jail time, a series of uninspired jobs, and a severe beating by an irate colleague, it’s time for the world to make good on its promise. I will be tall. Thanks to a slightly unorthodox doctor, who pioneered this new corrective surgery, I will be what I was intended to be. A giant among men. For now, to make up for those lost years, I intend not to add just a few inches, but a full foot. I will be nearly seven feet tall, and I will crush those around me. I will stomp on their faces and kick their ribs. Because finally everything will be as it should be.
(Copyright 2015 by Michael Doherty)
(Note: I wrote this story this morning, when I had no interest yet in getting out of bed. There was paper next to me, as there always is, and so I scribbled this down. I then put it aside, as I wanted to read the other story I’d written last night – “Esperanza’s Trick” – which in the morning still seemed to me to be as good as it was last night. But now a few hours have passed, and I like this one enough to post it here. That’s all for now.)