Punching

I've had strange friends, but Timothy just seemed to get worse as time went on. I first met him on campus, seeing him in clumsy, large-framed glasses, tie, sweater vest, and brown plaid pants. He was skinny, bookish, and clearly introverted but surprisingly aware of his surroundings. The way he carried himself, in terms of his posture and gait, gave away his precious shyness. But I clearly and specifically remember him standing amidst the buildings and our busy schoolmates spinning around as if he was looking for something. Or as if he wanted everyone to think he was looking for something when he was really just self-consciously trying to take everything in. I suppose that's not necessarily that strange, really, but if you had known Timothy, you'd understand.

I walked up to say hello and he smiled, recognizing me from a class we had together. We chatted about our classmates and professor, the reading assignments we'd had so far, the subject matter to some extent beyond the class's focus, and some of the strange things people say. Finally, he laughed and said, "Oh man, it's a really strange world."

I remember I said exactly, "Oh, uh, yeah, I bet it is," and chuckled. I guess I was caught off guard by the comment. I know it doesn't seem so extraordinarily strange to say that, but Timothy had this energy or some similarly vague quality which could be disorienting.

On some level Timothy may have appeared to have fallen victim to many of the typical pitfalls of American college students, reading a wide selection of the canon of Western civilization. But he had a certain dignity about it which I realized upon graduating was increasingly rare. The two of us would watch dilettantes get themselves in an uproar about their readings of Hegel or Kafka and joke about it later on in the day. That was incredibly refreshing, because you couldn't have normal conversations with those people. Even though they had a lot to stay, they seemed to be patently incapable of seeing any humor in the world.

After a couple of years, though, his behavior became worrisome. He started talking about death in ways with which I was not familiar. We'd both had a few deaths in our lives, which was something many of our friends did not share. Looking back on it now, I suppose I do remember Timothy seeming confused about our friends' inability to relate to our histories with death. He was never exactly morbid, but it just seemed kind of creepy. Thankfully, it didn't last long but it was the beginning of Timothy's conspicuous bizarre behavior.

After some time he stopped bringing up the death stuff, and he began to seem profoundly unimpressed with anything and everything. Then, when he was really interested in something, he'd start punching people. Just a shot in the arm at first, but increasingly aggressive as time went on. And then, he started punching people about things he wasn't interested in at all.

Frank said, "Paris Hilton should wear more plaid," and Timothy punched him in the arm so hard it left a bruise.

"Why'd you do that, man," Frank asked, and Timothy laughed.

He stopped hitting people for the most part after a couple of weeks since so many people got visibly upset with him, but then he started to bang on things, as if checking to make sure they were there.

Charlotte asked him why he kept punching the walls, tapping on bookshelves, and banging his palms on tables at a party once, and he said he was trying to remind everyone about them.

"About what?" she asked, and Timothy laughed. He thought this stuff was really funny.

"You know, the stuff," he explained.

Now, despite all this he was still a smart guy and not outright crazy or anything. I guess anyone who didn't know him would call him eccentric. We both graduated and got jobs and did that normal adult stuff. I got an apartment with some friends, and Timothy got a place on his own.

A couple years later, he just stopped doing all the banging and hitting altogether but became withdrawn again, like he had been in school.

We met for lunch one day, reminiscing about friends and parties. I brought up this one time when someone was talking about where some movie stars were reduced to tears by reporters from this television show and Timothy shot him in the arm really hard and everybody thought he was really upset or something.

"Yeah, nobody ever got it, they all just thought it was weird," he said, sounding genuinely disappointed, even though it was still a fond memory for him.

I smiled and said, "I never really got it either." Then the conversation changed.

He never hit me, though.