I was up late that night. Graveyard shift at the campus apartments. A dispute down the hall resulted in a pathetic and somewhat hairy student coming to me complaining about one asian in particular, and asians in general. He also said he needed a new scrunchie, but I couldn’t help him there. A single RA can only do so much to stem the asian invasion and conjure up scrunchies.
After he woke me up, there was no going back to sleep, so I wandered to my porch, and there you were, happily cannoning streams of urine into my yard.
At first, I was shocked, but the shock quickly gave way to admiration: here was a man with so little regard for the rules of society that he would piss where piss was not meant to go. And that made a statement, the audacity of which I could barely begin to comprehend. Here I was, an RA, whose job it was to reinforcce those very same petty rules, and suddenly, I began questioning what it was that I thought I was doing.
As you cavorted through the lawn wearing only socks on your hands, I reflected on what it was that I was doing: living in a prison of my own creation. I was telling myself that I could not ignore the childish disputes of my hallmates, could not eat a cake in the shower, could not pee willy-nilly with a dangling Free Willy. And the problem with that was… it was a lie. Rules weren’t who I was. They didn’t make me. They restricted me.
When you ran off to take a dump in my neighbor’s recycling bin, I felt like a changed man. I suddenly understood what it meant to live… to let myself be myself, and to neither make rules for others nor follow those made for me.
I stripped down to nothing, put my socks on my hands. I stepped out into my yard. Standing in your piss, I added my own. I laughed as the glory dribbled down my leg.
Freedom.
Freedom was in the pee.
