Shiva

"Don't you ever have those moments where you have the perfect retaliation, the perfect comeback inside your head?" I ask G as we take a break from studying for finals. The steam from the bowls of wonton soup before us rise into the air and slowly dissipate into the air. Nothingness. "You can imagine it all in your head. But then in reality, you don't do anything. You just look at them dumbly because you don't want to face the consequences if you lose control."

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For some reason, our "tennis team" decided to have team vacation. I say team with quotations because technically, it was not the team -- Gov. J was with me and she hasn't even picked up a racket since freshman year. We were hovering over a body of large body of water in our private jet -- which is quite surprising considering how poorly the athletics programs at our school are funded.

Coach announced that we could get off the plane if we wished. There would be a landing platform that rose from the ocean where we could get off and perhaps rent a boat to sail around in. It was late afternoon. The sky was the color of autumn. The water looked like ripples of gold.

I left the plane with Gov. J, and we walked down the creaky wooden stairs of the top tier of the platform down to the bottom where the wooden dock jutted into the water. Downstairs, there were two tables and a line of people waiting for booths -- a voting station. The inspector of the station asked us if we would like to partake in democracy and vote. We said sure, but they later kicked us out because we forgot to bring ID. (Which makes no sense in the first place because you are not supposed to vote in another precinct and even if it is your precinct, you usually do not need ID.)

We left the dock with a group of other girls down to the port where there were a line of seaside restaurants. We settled for the noodle restaurant from Kung Fu Panda, complete with Po as our waiter and the duck as the cook. I ordered a bowl of wonton soup; Gov. J ordered udon. We sat under the open sky on one of the rickety picnic tables and waited until the food came. I was about to drink a spoonful of soup when a sleek black convertible rolled into the parking lot at the front of the dining patio.

A group of punks staggered out of the car. One sported a surging pink mohawk; another's face was riddled with piercings. The apparent leader was not quite as flashy, with dark cropped hair and uncharacteristically well-bred clothes for a troublemaker -- black denim pants, navy blue button-up shirt.

The leader strode up to the picnic tables with a dangerous look on his face. He zeroed in on a scrawny Asian man in his twenties and said almost idly, "Where the hell is my payment, you bastard," before he knocked the shit out of the guy. From there, he began making his way down each of the aisles, throwing racial insults and suggestive comments at some of the restaurant customers. At times, he would take their food -- the tempura, for instance -- and eat it himself. His actions were completely arbitrary -- he would harrass one table and then completely ignore the next.

Gov. J and I continued to watch as he slowly made his way towards our table. I remember distinctly hoping he would avoid us, but at the same time, I recall secretly thinking that I wanted him to do something so I would have an excuse to fight.

As he came by, he completely ignored Gov. J before looking disdainfully down at my bowl. "What the fuck is that?" he said and shoved the bowl so that all the contents spilled onto my lap and soiled my jeans. "Maybe you should learn to be potty-trained." He had turned to walk back towards the parking lot when I leapt off of the bench and thundered towards him.

"Die, you fucking asshole!" All the momentum from sprinting carried into my attack. I remember praying that my fists would make contact as I leapt onto his back and started punching his head. The force knocked him off his feet and we crashed onto the lawn.

In the past, whenever I faced discrimination, I never fought back, verbally or physically. But in that instant, all those years of enduring harrassment silently cracked, erupting into anger and wrath. I was uncontrollable. I was Shiva, the destroyer, with all four arms clawing out to tear the flesh from the bone. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but I will take those words of yours and shove them down your filthy throat.

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Yes, it was just another dream.