I punched a soda can so hard that the man on it died

I've had several accomplishments in my life.  I was fourteenth in my high school class, not bad.  I once won a ribbon for something, I don't remember what, but the ribbon is in a drawer.  And I recently punched a soda can so hard that the man on it died.

Some scientists tried to explain it to me.  The man whose picture was on the soda can was on the other side of the country somewhere, doing some modeling, maybe for another soda can, I don't know.  Witnesses at the scene said that he suddenly crumpled, was struck down.  This happened at the exact same time that I, on the other side of the country, in my apartment, punched the can.  According to the scientists, I punched the can harder than a person is supposed to punch a soda can, and the overwhelming force of my punch could not be completely absorbed by the thin aluminum and so it was "diffused" (their word) into the "nearest available relevant 'host'" (their phrase) which happened to be the man printed on the can.  Similar things had happened before, they said, but the force had always diffused into a bottling plant or a field of leafy cane sugar, since, as the scientists explained to me, no one before had been so "deeply irresponsible" as to punch a can with a photo of a man on it.  You're supposed to only punch cans with photos of bottling plants or cane sugar, or not photos at all, I guess.  Well, I hadn't known.

I guess, if I'm being honest, I hadn't even paused to check if there was a man on the can before I punched it.  Might that have stopped me?  If I'd taken just a moment to realize, this is not just a can I'm punching, but a can with a man's face on it...and maybe, through some, I don't know, displacement of energy...well, I wouldn't have figured all that out, but maybe seeing the man's photo would have reminded me of a man, maybe a man I know or maybe just a man in general, and I would have remembered that violence against men is wrong, even if it's just a picture of a man, and maybe I wouldn't have been so cavalier to punch the can if I'd been able to conceive of it as a living creature, which it once was, I believe (?) and perhaps I would not have lashed out, at the can, if I thought it looked like a man or if it reminded me of a man.  But I didn't think about it at all.  It was just a can to me, and I felt it was worthy of punching, mocking me, as it was, with its inertness.

I was frustrated.  It's been a frustrating time for me.  It wasn't the can's fault, but nothing is ever the fault of the thing that gets hit or punished.  I felt awful for the man's loved ones.  But from what I heard, he had no family, and he had estranged himself from his old friends once he'd tasted success from his soda can modeling and had yet to make any new friends, so, not that awful.

The truth is, a part of me is horrified by what I've done, but another part of me is gratified.  I like that my frustration expressed itself in the world.  I like that it's spread, like a drop of ink soaking into thick, pulpy paper.  Anyone who looks can see it now.

The scientists have asked me not to punch any more cans, even a can without a photo of a man on it.  They say it's for reasons of science I don't understand, but I think they just don't trust me to check for a photo of a man on a can before I punch it, so they're advising me to steer clear of all cans.  I bought a sponge for this purpose at Target today.  Now, when I feel the urge to punch a can, I punch the sponge instead.  No man is printed on the sponge.  The sponge is soft and absorbs my punches and feels nothing, and soon, neither do I, but for the thud of impotent frustration that is the feeling of punching something that cannot be hurt.