As a Cupid, I would often advise my charges not to let their anger fester. As a Guardian, I have learned that righteous anger is a powerful weapon, and sometimes it is foolish to let it go too quickly.
I was furious with Robert for coming after Miranda while Evan was with her. How could he threaten a child? Does he have no compassion at all? I was so angry that I spent the rest of my evening that day, and all of today, following him. If I could not influence him into better behavior, I would at least let him feel the shadow of an angry heaven.
No one is entirely insensitive, and by this afternoon, Robert was rather jumpy and irritable. Not a superstitious man, he put it down to lack of sleep or perhaps the beginning of an illness. I didn’t particularly care what he thought. I only wanted to punish him.
Perhaps this was heavy-handed of me, but I do not think anyone could argue with the results.
Robert was getting a late lunch at a quiet store this afternoon, and he opened his bag to find that he’d been given the wrong sandwich. Gritting his teeth, he went back to the counter, where a man in a coverall and his pregnant wife were placing an order.
“Excuse me,” Robert said, interrupting them. “I ordered a BLT with no mayo.” He thumped the sandwich onto the counter, and a splash of white sauce splashed out. “Could you tell me what that is?”
The girl behind the counter frowned with professional dismay. “I’m so sorry, sir. We’ll make you another one—”
“I don’t have time to wait another twenty minutes for a sandwich,” Robert snapped. “How hard is it to follow simple instructions? I’m not asking for a lot here—in fact, I’m asking for less than you usually give. You would think that you could pull that off.”
The girl was pressing her lips together and glaring at Robert, and I set a hand on the center of his back. “Enough,” I said.
“Forget it,” Robert said. “Just give me my money back.”
“Of course,” said the girl in a clipped voice. “If you’ll wait just a minute while I get these people’s order—”
“Did you not hear me when I said I didn’t have time to wait for continued disappointment?” Robert demanded.
“Hey, man, back off,” said the man in the coverall, which read Jim. Behind the counter, an older man was hurrying forward, warned by his other employees about the altercation.
“Seven dollars and fourteen cents for this,” Robert said, ignoring them both. “Which is absolutely ridiculous even if I did get what I actually asked for.”
“Okay,” Jim said and put his hand on Robert’s shoulder. “Time to go, dude.”
“Thank you, sir,” the manager began, gently brushing the girl aside, “but I can—”
Then a very strange thing happened. My anger, which for two days had seemed to be pressing against a barrier, suddenly burst into Robert, doubling his own anger and overwhelming his restraint. He turned and launched himself at Jim, fists clenched and teeth bared. They went down in a tumble, and Jim’s wife staggered away with a shriek. She would have fallen, too, if I had not moved her hand so that she could catch herself on a table. Jim and Robert were not so lucky; they rolled across the floor, crashing into two other tables, before they came to a stop with Jim on top. He was snarling now, too, and his fists were much bigger than Robert’s.
“You like to pick on little girls, huh?” he snapped, driving his fist into Robert’s face. He took hold of Robert’s collar and dragged him to his feet. “You want to make a scene? You fucking got it, buddy.” He hit Robert again, throwing him down to the floor.
“Jim, enough!” his wife cried, her hand on her stomach.
I stretched out my wing to him, and he subsided, stepping back to stand beside his wife. Slightly breathless, his lip swelling from Robert’s attack, he looked over the counter at the manager. “You calling the police or should I?”
“They’re on their way,” the manager answered, gesturing to his employee who had a phone pressed to her ear. She looked pale, but triumphant. “Meanwhile, I think our friend should wait for them outside. Would you mind—?” He came out from behind the counter and took one of Robert’s arms.
“My fucking pleasure,” Jim said, and he dragged the dizzy Robert back to his feet. “Sorry to be a part of all the chaos.”
“No, I’m sorry that it happened—and of course, your meal is on us.”
“Like hell it is,” Jim said as they took Robert to one of the tables outside. “This wasn’t your fault at all.”
“I insist,” the manager said, huffing slightly as they dropped Robert into a chair.
“Well, then I’m just going to put the rest in the tip jar.”
They shook hands on that. A moment later a car pulled into the lot flashing red and blue lights.
I watched all this with ice in my chest. The violence did not please me, mostly because I could not help but feel myself responsible for it. But like the girl behind the counter, I could not help but feel a certain amount of satisfaction at the consequences Robert is now facing.
He has been arrested, and both Jim and the manager of the restaurant intend to press charges against him. He also has a fractured cheekbone and an inability to see out of his left eye, along with numerous bruises. Worst of all, for him particularly, is the indignity of the whole affair. He will not soon forget it.
I know better than to think that he will stay in jail more than a few hours, but perhaps some of Mr. Hill’s favor will be lost after this. Maybe that will be the worst punishment of all for him. And maybe this distraction will put Miranda and Evan out of Mr. Hill’s mind for a while. One can only hope.
I will have to ask Orison why this happened. I may have just gotten lucky, but if this is something that can turn one’s own negative energy against himself, it could be a useful thing to remember in times to come.