If a Brick Didn’t Know How to Sit on Walls Anymore, Here is What I Would Ask It (John Waddy Bullion)

Did you know that the night before he bum-rushed the stage and briefly interrupted the 1998 Grammy Awards, the Ol’ Dirty Bastard helped save the life of a little girl who had been run over by a car? That he was in the recording studio when suddenly there was a loud crash and commotion outside? That he and his friends rushed out into the street and, without a moment’s hesitation, lifted three-thousand pounds of Ford Mustang off the four-year-old’s tiny, crumpled body? Did you also know that he stayed with the little girl, talking to her, keeping her calm, until the ambulance arrived to take her to the hospital, where she was treated for first- and second-degree burns caused by the Mustang’s scalding hot engine? Do you think that little girl was still on his mind as he squirmed in his seat in Radio City Music Hall, less than twenty-four hours later? Was he imagining her, safe now in her hospital bed, snug in bandages and soothed by ointments? Did his muscles still ache from removing the unthinkable weight, the unbearable heat? Were his blood cells still shivering with adrenaline? Was he growing uncomfortable with the idea that he was an angel who was only capable of one miracle? And as this wild energy was balling up inside of him, did he feel the sudden need to do something–take a walk, a shit, or another bump off his pinky nail–before it came screaming out? Did he want to disappear? Did he wish he was dead? Or did he just want to dislodge himself from the wall of blank, unseeing faces and tumble back to earth, not caring what he broke on the way down?


John Waddy Bullion‘s has appeared or is forthcoming in BULL, HAD, Maudlin House, and Drunk Monkeys, among other fine places. He lives in Fort Worth, Texas, with his family. Follow him on Twitter @jonwaddy.

image: MM Kaufman