Ironman by Chris Crutcher

have somebody say you didn’t really feel awful when you did? That you shouldn’t feel bad when you were eatin’ dirt? You think ‘awful’ is one thing, they tell you it’s another? Ever have somebody tell you they were whackin’ on you because they loved you?”
    â€œSure, that happens to everybody.”
    â€œDoes that sound like the right meanin’ for ‘love’? How do you like it when that happens?”
    â€œI hate it,” Shelly said. “So what?”
    â€œWhy do you hate it?”
    â€œI just do.”
    â€œWell let me tell you why I hate it,” Mr. Nak said. “I hate it because I hate people tellin’ me how I feel or how I’m supposed to feel; tellin’ me what’s inside me ain’t real, because it makes the truth feel wrong, an’ I gotta feel like a dumbshit for bein’ wrong all the time.” He pounded his chest. “This is me inside here. An’ nobody but this Japanese cowboy gets to name that or putmeanin’ to it. An’ I hated it a lot more when I was a kid because now I know why they’re tellin’ me that, but then I thought if I was supposed to feel one way an’ I felt another, then somethin’ was wrong with me. An’ I hated takin’ what was wrong with me out on the road for ever one to see.”
    Now he sat forward, like he was somehow looking each of us in the heart, and said, “An’ like Shuja or Elvis, when somebody’d catch a glimpse of that weak part of me, I kicked his ass, or at least I tried real hard, because it made me hate myself an’ that’s the worst feelin’ of all.” He leaned even farther forward. “Y’all remember that. Self-hate is the worst feelin’ of them all .” He backed off a bit. “Feelins are real, folks. An’ nobody gets to identify yours but you. Now what you do with those feelins is another thing, an’ that’s why we’re here.”
    A lot of what he said rang true to how I felt while Redmond mimicked my name the day he booted me, Lar, almost as if he were trying to make me ashamed of who I was: I’m going to be enough of a friend, Beau-re-gard , to tell you that if you keep heading in the direction you’re heading, blah, blah, blah. Is it not true, Beau-re-gard , that the day you missed my assignment, blah, blah, blah. I mean, the guy was trashing me, and it worked. I hatedmyself for not being smart enough to stay out of his way. I felt like my name was stupid, which should have had nothing to do with the original problem: that I hadn’t done my homework.
    I actually started to say that, but I’m not real comfortable in the group yet—part of me still thinks I don’t really belong there—and besides, Hudgie started spinning out. “Worst feeling of all,” he says, talking to whoever bounced up behind his eyelids. “Worst feeling of all. ‘Hudge, you damn well know better! Gonna hafta do this for your own good. Doin’ it for your own good.’ Ssssss! Ssssss! ‘Doin’ this for your own good, Hudge.’ Ssssss! Worst feeling of all. That’s right, baby, worst feeling.”
    Usually everyone laughs when Hudge gets on a roll, but nobody laughed now. None of us even knew what he was talking about, but tears squirted between his clenched eyelids like water out the back of an ancient washing machine wringer. Shuja whispered, “Oooh, man! Homey’s feelin’ some weak shit.” Then he looked up at Mr. Nak and said, “You best be bringin’ him outta that, Mr. Nak,” and Mr. Nak said, “Makes you uneasy, don’ it, Shu?”
    â€œ Damn uneasy. Now come on, Mr. Nak, bring him on out.”
    Mr. Nak stood up and walked around behind Shujaand laid his hand real easy on Shuja’s shoulder and said, “It’s okay, Shu. I think ol’ Hudge needs to dump off a few of them tears. Might jus’