Right and Wrong

Yesterday we spoke about the difference between right and wrong - it was mentioned briefly. I knew, from a very young age, about right and wrong. I didn't have a name for it, but I knew that sometimes I did things that made my palms sweat and heart beat faster; sometimes I did things I wished I could take back, not because my mother would punish me - but because I knew inside that what I had done was inherently wrong for me. When I did something wrong, I felt that, somehow, I had faltered off my path of destiny. Somehow, I had missed an opportunity to be my best self. These are grandiose ideas, and most certainly, I could have never articulated them this way when I was four or five, but I did grasp the general concept. I did understand the difference between right and wrong, just as I had understood normality.

This will be brief, for, although there is gray area in discussing moral dilemmas, for the moment, I am only concerned with the un-obtuse - with the clear picture of rightness, justice, goodness; and the flip side, wrongness, injustice, badness.

A prime example of this was when I was attending High School and working at a music chain store. In walked this blue-eyed, blond-haired Adonis. He was wearing leather pants and a leather jacket with no shirt. Looking at him made my mouth water, so when he handed me his phone number after I helped him pick out a CD, I was floating on cloud nine.

We only got to speak when I babysat for my neighbor. He was able to call me there and I was able to call him from there. After a few days of this, he convinced me to cut class to see him. I agreed, I agreed despite the WRONGNESS I felt in my heart because I had feelings, feelings that were powerful. My cheeks would flush bright red, my breasts felt tender and wanted touching, and my privates would be silky moist when I spoke to him. Even though by brain's intention of seeing him was not necessarily to have sex - it was, in fact, what my body wanted.

I remember that day; I put on makeup, wore my best jeans and blouse, and the night before I shaved my crotch :) I cut in the middle of the school day with a friend. I told her what I planned to do and she shared some tips and tricks with me about pleasing men. After our chat, I hopped on a train and made a bee-line for the Adonis’s house.

On the train, my palms were sweating - I dismissed it as nervousness. My heart was racing, I explained it to myself - I was excited. My head felt light and woozy, I thought, "Maybe I didn't eat enough." If I was interested in what my spirit was saying about the situation I would have known that I was embarking on a journey to wrong-town.

When I got off the train and walked to his building I tried to think of something cool to say when he opened the door. I walked up the 2 flights to his door, and I put up my hand to knock. Before I knocked, I heard the CD playing that he bought from me, I heard him boing, and I heard what sounded like another woman's voice. I immediately turned around, went down the stairs, and called him from across the street.

He was furious. He wanted to know where I was, I told him I was across the street, and he started yelling at me from out the window. I felt so embarrassed and ashamed, I had no recourse but to hurry back to the train station and go home. When I got home, my neighbor told me he called her and cursed me out to her. He said I was nothing but a little girl - and he was right - I was. I was a little girl who decided to listen to her most base emotions - not those screaming at me to get laid, but the ones even deeper, even more primeval, those telling me that what I was about to do - was wrong.

Tomorrow, Enemy Of The State. . .