I Will Rise Read Online Free PDF Page A

and you get the exact pronunciation of my exact words.
    I live for this.
    The family pulls together tight, contracting. Kid hides behind Mommy’s well-toned leg and Daddy puts his arms out stand-back-style. The initial reaction is always fear. Who knows? Could be, this undifferentiated loser, this generic nonspecific, might infect and disease the perfect, homeostatic, fleshy family organ. Defenses go up.
    Daddy trying to look threatening.
    Mommy going for determined strength.
    Kid mewling for sympathy.
    I turn on the agony, writhe harder, and watch for signs of transformation out of the corner of my eye.
    It starts with a slow softening of the features. Once they realize they are not in danger everything loosens up. It hits Mommy first. If you look deep, focus on her pupils and force your way in, you can see the fear dying, draining of heat, and evening out. In a second or two a warm blanket of sorrow descends upon her brain and starts soaking up the guilt. She puts a hand upon one of Daddy’s defensively outstretched arms. The sorrow-guilt-understanding shoots wild, traveling through her body and charging her fingertips with emotion. The moment those fingertips touch down upon the meaty flesh of Daddy’s biceps his demeanor shifts. He joins Mommy and stares at me with sad, uncomprehending culpability. Something inside feels liable. The two of them have done nothing wrong, but suddenly they feel like total and complete shit. They feel bad that I am afflicted and they aren’t, that I roll around on the ground like a dog with Parvo while they walk hand in happy fucking hand, healthy, strong, successful.
    At this point one of two things can happen. The family organ can look the other way, avoiding my pained stares, and pretending I don’t exist, all the while pretending the world beyond their vacuum of joy doesn’t exist. They can be cruel and soulless and pay me no mind as they enter Albertson’s to buy lunchmeat and juice and anything their conjoined hearts desire. Or, they can ask me if I am all right. They can offer to call an ambulance. They can lend support. They can prove their decency and worth as human beings by recognizing me as a human being, by recognizing my decency and worth.
    I cool the spasms and wait.
    My decency and worth?
    When I get down to it, I am doing this for them. I’m selflessly flailing about so that these people can feel good about themselves and be proud of the fact that inside, where it counts, they are decent and kind and caring. All I want out of this is to be noticed, to be assimilated into an organ system, if only for a moment. I want to connect, if only for a moment. True, I don’t really like people and their annoying habits, but in the end I’m one of them and in the end I need some of the same things. Boo-hoo. Yeah, I know, I do it to myself. I don’t have friends or family because I don’t want friends or family. I can’t deal. My views and opinions and sexless attitude just don’t jibe with the world around me. I don’t fit, but I find moments like these to force myself in. I create these unreal, dreamlike moments because it’s the only way I can coexist.
    The entire organ has come around and even Kid looks at me with sad little eyes. They don’t pretend not to see me and they don’t run off. Instead, together as a family, they slowly approach. Daddy bends at the waist and begins with the standard line of questioning. My eyes are trained on his hand. The hand moving toward me. The hand firmly taking hold of my arm and giving it a tender squeeze. The hand: a cipher, a conduit of warmth and validation. Daddy’s mouth moves, but I hear nothing. Shock waves of pure sentiment explode from his reassuring palm and surge by way of my flesh into my bloodstream. I go light-headed, swimmy, and high on responsiveness. Mommy touches Daddy, resting her hand upon his back, and the rush intensifies.
    Something like euphoria, dark and beautiful and growing, blinds me from the inside