“Eight billion people in this world,” I said to the asshole pointing the gun in my face, “and you picked me to fuck with?” I shook my head as I stared down the gun barrel. “You made a really bad choice.”

This part of the story is one hundred percent true. Yes I, Ledlevee, Mike Monroe, the real life person writing this, beat the shit out of two guys who tried to rob me at gunpoint. They fucked with the wrong person on the wrong night. So this first entry is the true part. Everything after this entry is going to be what could have happened the next day and every day going forward if I’d done things just a little differently after this night. But back to the story. And let me rewind a bit now that I’ve got the first sentence hook out of the way.

I’ve had five really bad years. Like legendarily tragically all-time bad years. My dad died. My wife of eleven years told me she was gay and wanted a divorce. I moved out and was forced to pay for both households since she refuses to get a job, and all that with four kids. My mom has dementia and has been steadily getting worse and I was the person who had to help take care of her, call her every night to remind her to take her meds, to do mundane things most of us take for granted. And that’s on top of taking care of four kids and paying for two households. I never have any money because of this shitty situation. I started messing up at work because of the psychological toll of all of this. I have therapists, psychiatrists, more meds than you can shake a stick at. I’m bipolar. And I have PTSD. Plus I’ve been dealing with Crohn’s Disease most of my life. I’m not saying all this because I want a fucking pity party. I’m just giving some context.

But of all the shit, the one thing that stung the most, the thing that hurt more than anything ever has my entire life, was when the woman I love stabbed me through the heart. Metaphorically of course. We haven’t gotten to the violent vigilante part yet. Let’s call her Mary Jane. Because every super hero needs to have his Mary Jane.

So Mary Jane showed up right after my separation from my wife, though I’d known her most of my life. She helped me through one of the hardest things I’d ever been through which was the separation and pending divorce. She was really there for me. And as the couple of years or so went on, we grew closer and closer and started going on trips together and spending more time together. I started to realize how much we had in common. And though I didn’t realize it at the time, I fell in love with her.

Things got physical very briefly. And right before she took me on this wonderful birthday trip, she told me an ex had emailed her. She laughed it off and said the only reason she’d ever dated him was she didn’t want to end up falling in love with some ex convict. Made sense I guess. She’d convinced me that this guy was totally wrong for her and she had no interest in him whatsoever. And then she takes me on this wonderful all expenses paid trip and we have sex. And on the way back she was talking about introducing me to her sister and I’m like “Hmm, maybe this could end up being something.” A week later she emails me and tells me she’s getting back with her ex; you know, the one she supposedly didn’t give a fuck about. So you can guess how that made a guy who already has major self esteem issues feel.

Anyway, five months later things hadn’t gotten any better. I’d been fighting suicidal thoughts for months. I really didn’t give a fuck anymore. So I went to this sound bath and acupuncture therapy I’ve been going to. And afterwards, I was hanging out with my friend. We’ll call him John since I probably shouldn’t use real names in this thing. He says “Hey buddy. Sorry I have to go to work now, but you should go treat yourself. Do something nice for yourself.”

So I’m like, “Okay. It’s a nice night. I’ll go for a walk.”

I drove home and started walking up Harford Road. I’ll use real place names to help things seem more real. This all takes place in Baltimore, by the way. So here I am walking up Harford Road, and on my way back, this eighteen or twenty year old kid comes walking up next to me, dressed in all black. And he says “Give me your bread, dog.”

And I’m like, “My bread?”

“Yeah, your bread.”

Then I notice there’s another guy walking behind me who says, “Give it to him!”

I say, “Why don’t you go to the fucking grocery and get your own fucking bread.”

He says, “Give me your money.”

I say. “I don’t have any money.”

He says, “Yes you do.” I really didn’t, but I wouldn’t have given it to him if I did.

I smile while I’m walking. “Go fuck yourself.”

So these assholes jump me and start punching me in the head and face. I should mention I don’t feel pain and it takes a shit ton to knock me out. So their punches didn’t even hurt, though they did knock my glasses off and it was hard for me to see after that. But I started punching back. I should also mention that I’m strong as shit and I’ve been taking karate. It’s one of the things that’s been helping me survive the past few years. I was using it to get out my frustrations. I never thought it would literally save my life.

Anyway, I started punching back, and though their punches didn’t hurt me, mine definitely hurt them. I was taking out years of pent up rage on their unsuspecting assess. I went all Darth Vader on them. The guy in front of me realized they weren’t gonna take me out like that so he took a few steps back and drew the gun. The guy behind me was still behind me.

And that’s when I said, “Eight billion people in this world and you picked me to fuck with? You made a really bad choice.”

The guy behind me said, “He’s gonna kill you.”

I said “Great! Put me out of my misery.”

I remember the guy with the gun laughing. He must have thought that was hilarious. “Come on mother fucker,” I said. “Kill me. Put me out of my misery. Do it. Just make sure you don’t miss and turn me into a brain damaged vegetable or something.”

Then this car pulled up. Apparently we were blocking the intersection. I tried to wave at them but they just sat there. So the guy with the gun moved out of the way and they drove past like nothing was happening. I tried to flag down other cars that were driving by. It was almost comical at this point.

The guy with the gun said “Ain’t nobody helping you.”

I smiled and said, “I’m not the one who needs help. You are.”

At this point I figured he’d have shot me by now if he was gonna do it. And I was super pissed that he was too much of a pussy to pull the trigger. So I decided to take out all of my rage and frustration on these two assholes.

I knocked the guy’s gun away with a left handed middle inside block. Then I gave him a heavy hook to the jaw with my right hand. I back kicked the guy behind me and hit his crotch. I turned and took a few steps back, making sure I had them both in front of me, and I stepped closer to the guy with the gun to take away his range advantage.

Now a normal human would have probably ran at this point, but I was having too much fun. They weren’t apparently, because they looked at each other and ran across the street and into some dark trees.

While they were running I yelled “You fuckers are lucky you knocked my glasses off or you’d both be bleeding in the street right now!” Then I picked up my glasses and put them back on.

Walking home, I felt like a badass. I had a shit eating grin on my face. Two guys tried to rob me at gunpoint and I beat the crap out of them. But then I remembered my four kids. I can’t leave them alone with their mom. I have to be there for them. I can’t be doing stuff like that anymore. I have to be more careful.

That’s what my real life self said. But from here on, I’m going to turn this thing fictional. But based on reality. This is the story of what may have happened if I’d decided to become a real life superhero.

Yesterday I worked like any other day. It was Thursday. The first Monday of every month and the third Thursday I run a writing workshop. Tuesdays are karate class and a music open mic at the Train Stop, a bar in Station North. And Wednesdays are sound bath and acupuncture therapy. And I work from home as a computer programmer all day and have the four kids most weekends. Yeah, I’m a busy guy.

I wasn’t completely unscathed from the fight the previous night, though I didn’t feel anything at the time. I had this weird pain at the bottom joint of my left thumb where I blocked the gun, I guess from hitting the metal or jamming my thumb. It felt like a bone bruise or something. And I have a floater in my left eye. I keep thinking I see a mouse running across the floor, but it’s the floater moving around.

So I worked all day and tried not to think about Mary Jane, but it’s a losing effort. I really thought she was my soulmate, my silver lining, but like everything else in my life, it amounted to jack shit. So I worked, trying my best to concentrate, trying not to fuck things up at work more than I already have. Just plugging away until the day is over.

I run three or four miles during my lunch break every day. Partially to get in shape. Partially because it’s the only time I can think. But for the past several months I haven’t been able to get Mary Jane out of my head while running, which sucks. I wish I could just erase the memory, like that movie with Jim Carrey.

Since yesterday wasn’t the third Thursday, I didn’t have shit to do after work. I told a few close friends about the attempted robbery, but not many. My friend Amy, who used to be Mary Jane’s best friend before they stopped talking to each other, but that’s a whole other story, thought I was absolutely batshit crazy for hitting a guy with a gun, and she told a guy she housecleaned for and he thought I was batshit crazy too. They’re probably right. But I was batshit crazy long before I hit a guy with a gun. That’s just another symptom.

I also told John about it since he’s the one who said I needed to treat myself which was why I went for the walk in the first place. He got a kick out of it. He said maybe those guys needed that to happen so they could change their ways. Always putting a positive spin on things, that one. Only in this case, at least for the time being, he was very wrong.

Over the course of the day, I looked at the neighborhood app I like to glance over while I’m working a few times, just seeing what was going on near me. And I saw this woman who was heartbroken that her grandson was beaten by two guys earlier that day. They stole his bike, pistol whipped him, and sent him to the hospital. And they fit the exact description of the guys who tried to rob me whose asses I kicked. I guess this other guy couldn’t stand up to them the way I did. I was pissed.

She said they called the cops but the cops didn’t do shit. Which is exactly why I didn’t get the cops involved. What was I gonna say? Two late teens early twenties black kids wearing all black tried to rob me? The cops would be just as likely to track down the wrong guy and end up shooting him. Unless you have a way to positively ID somebody, the cops can’t do anything.

So after work, I decided to go to my favorite barbecue joint, Crazy Coyote’s House of Barbecue. Just around the corner on Harford Road. Only problem was, to get there, I’d have to walk right past the spot those guys tried to jump me. And it was getting dark. I said fuck it, went outside, and started walking. I almost wanted something to happen. I wanted someone to try to fuck with me again. So I could get more pent up frustration and anger out. I had more pent up heat than a volcano about to blow.

Now in real life, this is when I remembered my kids, turned around, walked back to my car, and drove there without incident. But this isn’t real life anymore, so while I was walking, when I reached the brick wall near where those guys had jumped me the previous night, they jumped out from behind the wall with metal baseball bats.

“What are you gonna do now, bitch?” the first one asked.

“I wasn’t scared of you when you were pointing a gun at my head,” I said. “Why the fuck do you think I’d be scared of you now?”

They hit me in the side and stomach, which hurt a little even though I have an extremely high pain tolerance, and they gave me some good bruises, but I pulled one of the bats away and smashed the guy who still had the bat in the face. Did I mention I’m strong as shit? Needless to say, he was having a very bad night at that point. Then I hit the other guy in the head and they were on the ground, trying to wiggle their ways away from me.

I lifted the bat to smash the first guy in the head again. “No please!” he said, wincing in pain.

I glared at him as he lay there. “Say you’ll never do this again. I heard you beat some poor kid and he’s in the hospital. How bout I send you to the hospital?”

“We won’t do it again,” he said.

I glared at the other guy and pointed the bat at him.

“We won’t.”

I nodded. “You better not. Because, if you do, I’ll find you. And I’m not like the cops. If I find you, you’ll wish you were in hell.”

I took both bats and went to get my barbecue. When I walked back, they were gone. Hopefully I’ll never read about those assholes on the neighborhood app again.

Most Tuesday nights I go to karate class and then I go to a music open mic at the Train Stop. Last night I did both after a long day of work.

My karate sensei is an old friend who teaches classes across town so I went there after I was done working. When we were practicing self defense, my PTSD kicked in. But it was a little different this time. This time, while I was practicing, when I saw the other student’s fist coming at me, I flashed back to the guys trying to mug me. Good thing I was able to catch myself and pull out of it.

After class I talked to my old friend Paul who was the teacher. I told him about the kids who jumped me and how I knocked the gun away and beat the crap out of them. I didn’t mention what happened the second time. I was half expecting him to reprimand me because he always said “If they have a gun, run.” But he was actually proud of me. He said “If you walked away from the fight, you won for that day.” I guess he was right. I mean it’s better than not walking away I guess.

Afterwards I went to the open mic at the Train Stop and told my band mates about what happened. The lead singer and guitarist Frank started telling this woman about it and she seemed really interested. I thought maybe I could make something of it until she started talking about her boyfriend. I shrugged it off played music and it went pretty well. I’ve been playing violin for 38 years now so I can do some impressive things. Yeah, I’m that old.

When I was done I talked with my friend Chris who does both poetry and music stuff with me. He explained that he got jumped by some guys who pulled a car over and ran out. I remembered my old friend Nick who I’ve known since the fifth grade saying something similar about some guys who pulled over and got out of a car and tried to jump him. Same neighborhood, same street. Of course my first thought was I need to do something about these assholes.

When the open mic was over, I put my violin in the trunk and walked to the street where these guys in the car tried to jump my friends. It was after one in the morning and here I was this guy standing around in a shady neighborhood where I knew people had been jumped. I wanted something to happen. I welcomed it. I had so much anger I needed to get out and I figured this was the best way.

I leaned against a building and this pretty college age girl walked by. I tried not to look at her because I didn’t want to creep her out, being this old guy standing around in a dark street. Little did she know I was the only thing standing between her and what could have been a very bad night.

A car pulled up and four kids dressed in black got out, a lot like the ones who tried to jump me. They started harassing the woman. Saying things like “Hey bitch. You got a nice ass. I bet you got a nice pussy too. You got any money on you?”

I walked over to them. “Leave the lady alone.”

They laughed. “Or what.”

I grinned. “Or I’ll give you a really bad headache.”

One of them tried to grab her but she broke free. I lunged at the guy, grabbed his head and slammed it into my knee. Then I elbowed him hard in the head. The other guys started punching me, but it didn’t hurt, so I side kicked one guy in the knee and he stumbled to the ground. I blocked a few punches, right hooked one guy in the jaw, and roundhouse kicked the last one in the stomach. I tried to keep them in front of me and they all stumbled back to the car and drove away. “This ain’t over!” one of them shouted. “We’ll find you!”

“I welcome it!” I shouted back. “I’ll be waiting!” And they sped off.

I turned to the girl. “You okay?”

She nodded.

“Want me to walk you home or to your car or to wherever you were going?”

She nodded. “Home.” I walked her home and we talked some small talk. She was a student at the art school nearby. I told her to be careful and said good night and she went into her apartment building and walked up the steps. I went home, wacked off, and went to sleep.

Today I worked and then went to acupuncture and sound bath. Afterwards, I talked to the guy who ran it, Alex. My friend John wasn’t there that night. He usually brought his guitar and we would jam a bit after sound bath. But Jonah, one of the other violinists was there. So I told Alex and Jonah what happened the week before. Jonah smiled and said “I can’t tell you how happy that makes me. Yes! One of the good guys won this time.”

Alex told me about the time he got mugged when he left his girlfriend’s house. He gave them the keys to his car and got out, but soon after, the police found the guys and gave his car back.

Thats when I realized I needed to start cleaning this city up. The cops were overwhelmed. The citizens lived in fear. And if there’s something the past week has proven to me, it’s that my place in this world is to try to make things right.

“You’re nuts,” Amy said. “No I mean you were always crazy. But now you’re absolutely batshit.”

Amy helps me out a lot. I’m a single dad who has four kids most weekends, so she watches them when I go out. She helps me clean my house. She’s a house cleaner and a pet sitter and a dog walker for a living, but lately she’s had some physical ailments, so I lift shit and carry stuff up stairs for her and she helps me with single dad shit. It’s a mutually beneficial relationship. Plus I tell her everything. Everything except stuff about Mary Jane. They used to be best friends and had a bit of a falling out, so Amy and I have a deal where neither of us can talk about Mary Jane around one another. Like I said, mutually beneficial.

But I’m starting to think telling her about my plans to become a sort of a vigilante super hero type person was a mistake. I figured I needed to tell her because if I had to buy equipment, I could have it sent to her place so it would be hard to trace it back to me.

“And that’s pretty fucked up by the way,” she said. “That you want to get your shit sent here. You’re safe but put me in danger. I’m a middle aged woman who can barely walk and you want all the drug dealers and murderers you pick fights with to come here. Great plan.” She rolled her eyes. Amy is the queen of sarcasm.

“No I won’t put your name on the packages,” I said. “I’ll use some made up name. And it’s just my paranoia anyway. Nobody’s gonna try to trace any of this stuff.”

“And what sort of stuff are you talking about?”

“I don’t know. Black clothes, ski masks, gloves, knives, ammunition…”

“Who the fuck does this?”

“You know I’m not like other people. I’m the ‘Anomaly.’” That’s my nickname for myself. I always joke that if you think of what a normal person would do in any situation, I do the opposite of that.

“You’re gonna owe me.”

I smiled. “I already owe you.”

“You’re gonna owe me more.”

So I’ve been studying the neighborhood app looking for crimes. A lot of people get packages stolen off their porches in my neighborhood. Looks like me beating those two kids with a bat helped them make up their minds not to cause trouble anymore because I haven’t seen their descriptions on there lately. Some drunk guy has been hanging out in the alleys behind peoples’ houses. Not worth my trouble.

Last night was my writing workshop I run the first Monday and the third Thursday of every month. It’s been picking up a bit. My poet friend Mary usually comes, and John comes sometimes. My friend Chris is a regular and he draws up all my fliers for me. There was this woman Michelle who drives in from the mountains out west from time to time. And then there’s this woman named Darcy who’s possibly one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met.

Darcy travels around the world doing odd jobs. She’s lived in New Zealand, various places in Europe. She’s been to Antarctica for Christ’s sake. But lately she’s been house sitting and pet sitting in Hampden of all places. Right near the church where I run my workshops, which is the same church that has the acupuncture sound baths.

So Darcy tells me that she’s been on guard walking the dogs lately because apparently some people in Hampden have been jumped recently. So after the workshop, I made sure everyone left, then went into the bathroom and changed into an all black outfit with gloves. Then I locked up the church and went on the prowl.

I found an alley with a dumpster and some cats, so I decided to practice sneaking up on the cats. I mean if you can sneak up on a cat, you should have no problem sneaking up on a person right? I walked on my tiptoes, quiet and slow, trying to stay in the shadows, but of course one of the cats saw me and ran and then all the others ran too. I chased them until I saw a woman looking at me and I stopped. “It’s not what it looks like,” I said, standing there in all black with black gloves on a warm evening, having just chased a bunch of alley cats.

“I don’t even know what it looks like.” She shook her head and walked on.

I wandered the streets for a bit until I saw a guy and a woman yelling in the street and the guy pulled his hand back and hit her. I jumped out from the shadows. “Hit her again and see what happens.”

They both looked at me like I was crazy. She slapped him in the face, then turned back to me. “I can handle my own shit, thank you very much.”

The man glared at me. “What the fuck are you doin’ you dumb mother fucker?”

The woman laughed and shook her head. “Get the fuck out of here.” Then she slapped her man again and he hit her back.

I was confused and not sure what to do, so I just walked away. Apparently she didn’t want my help anyway. So that was my first night as a costumed superhero I guess. Didn’t exactly go great. Hopefully things work out better next time. I’m tired. I’m gonna wack off and go to sleep. Fuck this city.

I’m in pain as I’m writing this. And as I’ve said before, I have an extremely high pain tolerance, so that means something. But more on that later.

I’ve had a fairly normal week for the most part up until about two hours ago or so. I had the kids over the weekend as usual and took them on a picnic at the reservoir on Saturday. Sunday was church. Not sure if I mentioned it, but I play bass and violin in the praise team and I teach Sunday School so I did that. Yeah, I’m a fucking Sunday School teacher. Fuck off.

Monday I was on call for work so I sat around my house waiting for a call that never came. Which is a good thing. Work calls can be extremely stressful. I do global billing and finance computer programming for a major worldwide law firm. Big bucks and big stress. Too bad half my money goes towards supporting my hopefully soon to be ex wife.

So that brings us to today. I worked. I probably talked to Amy at some point and she probably reminded me of how much of an idiot I am for trying to be a super hero with four kids to take care of. I talked to my brother for a bit. I mentioned that I beat up two guys who tried to rob me at gunpoint and he told me to never do anything like that again. Big brother always looking out for me.

I thought about Mary Jane most of the day and was pissed off about it. I haven’t talked to her or seen her in six months and I still can’t stop thinking about her. I guess that’s what knowing someone for thirty years, falling in love with them, and then fucking them does to a person. I wrote a poem or two about lost love and posted them here on theprose dot com. Yeah, read some of my other shit on here if you haven’t yet. And read some of the other stuff on here by other people, too. A lot of it’s really good. There, got my plug in there. Jeff, send me a message for the address you can send the check to.

After work, I went to karate class with Paul teaching. I’m still a white belt, by the way. Probably been taking karate longer than any white belt in history. I just can never find a day to take the test when I don’t have the kids. Maybe one of these days I’ll just have to get a babysitter.

Then I went to the open mic at the Train Stop. I talked to Gina, the owner and bartender, about starting a poetry open mic there and she seemed receptive. Frank and Chris were there. And my friend Billy was there. He reads gritty William Burroughs style shit about drug addicts and hookers. Good stuff.

I played violin while Frank sang and played guitar and our friend Jimmy played bass and our other friend Jimmy played drums. I know a lot of Jimmies. I played a blues tune with my other friend Joe. Jimmies, Johns, and Joes. I don’t know what it is with all these “J” names. The funny thing is, even though these are all made up names, there are still a lot of “J” names at the open mic in real life also. Just different “J” names.

So I didn't feel like playing super hero tonight. I guess I was turned off to the whole thing after last week's fiasco with the cats and the domestic squabble. I just walked back to my car with my violin case. But on the way, this car pulled up.

Four kids in black got out and I recognized them as the kids I beat up near the same spot a few weeks ago when they jumped out of the same car. “I told you this ain’t over!” one of them shouted as they ran towards me.

I roundhouse kicked the lead one in the face but I realized they all had knives. “Bitch you gonna die tonight!” one of them said.

He tried to stab me but I blocked the knife away with a middle inside block. One of the others stabbed me in the side and I felt a shot of pain. Another tried to slice me and I blocked it but he sliced my arm. Another stabbed me in the stomach but I smashed him hard in the face with my violin case and knocked him to the ground. My violin is the most expensive thing I own outside of cars and houses, clocking in at two thousand bucks. I should be more careful with it. Anyway, I turned and started running.

I was in pain and bleeding but I run three and a half miles a day so running is second nature to me. And running in pain is second nature. Plus I’m fast, so I left those guys in the dust. I made it to my car, got in, and drove to the hospital which is around the corner from my house. I bled all over the seat in my car. I guess I’ll worry about cleaning that up later. Making sure I didn't die was first and foremost in my mind right then and there.

And that’s where I am now. In the hospital. All bandaged up and sitting in a bed, having second thoughts about my super hero aspirations.

Let me start by saying I’m still alive. Obviously, right? Or I wouldn’t be writing this. I mean I guess I could be a ghost hiding in the aether of cyberspace. But I’m not.

The stab wounds were superficial. So though they hurt, they didn’t affect me long term in any way. No organ damage or anything like that. I lost some blood but the drive to the hospital was just fifteen minutes so it wasn’t too bad. I knew it wasn’t bad because I’d ran to my car. I don’t think I’d have been able to do that if the stab wounds were serious.

Anyway, they said not to do any heavy lifting and no vigorous activity for two weeks, so I’m taking one more week off from my superhero gig. Or hobby. Or whatever the fuck it is. Hobby? What sort of fucked up mother fucker am I, anyway?

So I did do some preparation, though. I found a Kevlar body suit on online for 2500 bucks, and since I’m getting a bonus in July, I figured I could splurge a bit, so I bought it and had it sent to Amy’s. Needless to say, she wasn’t particularly happy about it.

“What the fuck, dude?” was her initial reaction. “You got stabbed three times and now, instead of deciding enough is enough, you spent 2500 dollars on a Kevlar body suit you’re getting sent to my house? You do realize you have four kids, right?”

“Of course,” I said. “They’re always first and foremost in my mind. That’s why I want to try to make this city safe for them.”

“Yeah,” she said, shaking her head. “Sure. Look, Mike. You are a single dad with four kids. Plus you have a full time job. Plus you have an elderly mom you help take care of. Plus you do poetry workshops and want to start an open mic and you’re in how many bands?”

“Three now,” I said.

Amy shook her head. “Three bands. You’re nuts.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I know.”

“You know. But you aren’t gonna change anything, are you?”

I shrugged. “Just tell me it’s okay for me to send it here.” I paused. “And I’ll fix your futon.”

She shook her head. “Whatever. I must be the world’s biggest enabler. And I don’t even know what your addiction is anymore. You’ve gotten over alcohol and pills and sex. What are you addicted to being a superhero now? I bet that would be an interesting twelve step program.”

I smiled and gave her a hug. “Thanks so much.”

But that wasn’t the only new development in the past week. This one’s sort of a cute story, actually.

So I’m putting the kids to sleep Saturday night, and everyone’s in bed except the youngest, my five year old, and he comes into the room and says “Daddy I have a surprise for you. Close your eyes.” I did. “Now make a wish.”

I thought to myself, gee, I haven’t been on a date in years. Not a real one, anyway. I just want to go on a date. “Okay,” I said.

“Now open your eyes! When you wake up tomorrow, your wish will have come true.”

And he went to sleep and I didn’t think anything of it other than he was just being a cute kid.

So about a half hour later, I get this message on Facebook. Do you remember when I mentioned Michelle, who comes to my writing workshop from the mountains out west? Like an hour or so away? Probably not. Why would you? I just mentioned her in passing. Anyway, I get this message from her asking if I want to go out Thursday night. She wants to get to know me better. I say yes, of course, and I go to sleep, not thinking anything of it.

The next morning, my five year old comes in and wakes me up. “Good morning Daddy. Did your dream come true?”

My jaw dropped. “Yes. Actually it did.”

“Look under your pillow, Daddy.” So I look and there’s a plastic lion toy and a plastic squirrel toy under it. Surely there must be some symbolism or a weird metaphor there, but it’s lost one me.

So there have been a few new developments. I haven’t been able to start running or lifting weights since I got stabbed which sucks. I really need every outlet I can get right now with all the nasty bullshit I have in my life.

Work’s been particularly tough. Seems like I can never catch a break. I’m doing another person’s job now. He retired and I took over all his stuff. My boss and my program manager have me on a tight leash. They know about the separation and the four kids and everything but they need results regardless. What they don’t know about is the Mary Jane ordeal and the strain that’s put me through over the past six months. I wish I could just forget she existed. I just can’t seem to get over this one and I’m starting to think I never will.

I went on that date with Michelle last night. It went really well. We got crab cakes, talked, played pool at a famous Baltimore nightclub. Then we hugged and she left. I guess I’m old fashioned. Hugging seemed right this time for some reason. I wasn’t ready to kiss her yet and I don’t think she was ready to kiss me either. She’s a divorced mom. Perfect for me I guess.

But last night I had a dream about Mary Jane which just about fucked up the whole experience for me. I haven’t talked to her in six months and she’s still having that much of an effect on my life. I can’t wait until next week when I can start up the superhero stuff again. I have so much angst and anger to take out on some unsuspecting criminal gangster punks. I want to crack some skulls, smash some faces in. Yeah, Anakin Skywalker’s got nothin’ on me. I’m a real life Incredible Hulk.

So I got my armor suit in the mail this morning. It’s black and badass looking. And it’s supposed to be resistant to bullets and stab wounds. Cool beans. I had an interesting conversation with Amy when I picked it up. Good old Amy is always good for an interesting conversation.

“What’s your super hero name gonna be?” she asked.

“Huh?”

“You know. If you’re a superhero, you need a name.”

I chuckled. “I’m not really a superhero. I’m just an asshole who likes kicking peoples’ asses.”

“Well you still need a name.”

“Mike.” I grinned.

“Ha ha,” she said in her most sarcastic voice. Which in her case is about as sarcastic as you can get.

“What? It’s my name.”

“Whatever. Well don’t go getting yourself killed. I still need you to carry my groceries up the steps for me. And imagine what your kids’ lives would be like if all they had was their mom.”

“It’s the one reason I don’t off myself and get it over with.”

“I know. You’ve told me many times.”

I smiled. “Oh I actually went on a date last night. My first date since that shit went down with Mary Jane.”

“Careful,” she said. “Don’t forget our deal.”

“Oh right,” I said. “I won’t mention her name again.”

“How was the date?”

“It went well. Good food, good company, good times.” I frowned. “We just hugged at the end though.”

“Why is that bad? You don’t have to fuck every woman you go out with on the first date. Maybe that will happen. Or maybe you just made a new friend. You had fun. That’s what matters, right?”

“I guess. I have enough friends. I don’t need friends right now.” What I really wanted was someone to get me over the hump with Mary Jane. I was sick and tired of being lovesick over her.

Amy frowned. “Somebody could hand you a million dollars and you’d find something wrong with it.”

I smiled. “I mean nobody’s just gonna hand you money and not expect something in return. With that sort of money there’d be some insanely thick strings attached.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

I started walking down the steps with the box of body armor, which wasn’t as heavy as I’d thought it would be.

“Well I’ll see you later,” she said. “Tomorrow I guess.”

I turned and smiled. “How about the Masked Fucker.”

She shook her head. “That’s a description of what you are, not a name.”

When I got home, I found some red duct tape and put a cross on the chest plate with it. Good a symbol as any. The red looked really good on the black armor. And as for the cross, I’m a Sunday School teacher after all. And I’d like to think God has played a part in all the times I could have died but didn’t. And boy, you only know the half of it. I’ve been dancing with death my whole life. I can’t figure out why God’s been keeping me alive all this time but there must be some reason.

In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m an angry, bitter man. I’m angry at the universe because I’m getting old. I’m angry that my hair is gray and I’m going bald. I’m angry that I can’t see for shit and I need glasses. I’m angry that my wife destroyed our family and now I’m a single dad with four kids. I’m angry at Mary Jane for picking another guy over me. I’m angry at myself for still being in love with her. I’m angry at God for letting all of this happen. And I got my staples taken out of my stab wounds yesterday so last night, I was finally able to take all of that anger and hatred and bitterness out on someone.

But let’s take a step back. So this week was similar to most for me. Fun weekend with the kids. I took them to the pool and we all swam and enjoyed the water. We went on a picnic at a park with a fun playground. I played bass at church Sunday and talked to my friend Janet who runs the Sunday School. I call her the Superintendent. We talked about the kids and the divorce. She’s been helping me get beds and stuff for the kids through the church. It really sucks that even though I have a high paying job, I can’t afford anything because I’m paying for two households while my soon to be ex-wife does nothing. That’s a rant for another day, though.

I worked every day and yesterday went to karate class after work. Paul has been grooming me to be a blue belt. I just haven’t been able to make any of the promotions yet because of kids and stuff. Then I went to the open mic at the Train Stop. Played violin and read some poems and people loved it as always. A few of us headed over to the Queen Korean Restaurant afterwards. It’s also a club and as the name, possibly unintentionally, implies, it’s a haven for the LGBT crowd, many of whom are friends of mine.

So that night, I was there with Frank, Billy, and Chris. And a transgender woman Rachel who ironically I met when Mary Jane and I were out celebrating her birthday. Rachel and I play music together sometimes. She plays country and rockabilly stuff.

I talked to Frank about music and art. He’d been an art history major in Kansas City, where he was from. A real blues guy. I talked to Chris about some fliers for an upcoming show. And Billy and I talked about some broadsides we were gonna publish together. Lots of art and music stuff.

Rachel mentioned she’d been assaulted by some guys nearby but she fended them off because she had taken karate for several years. Good for her. If I didn’t want my identity to remain anonymous maybe I could have recruited her for some help. Anyway, it definitely sounded like the neighborhood needed some cleaning up. And the guys who attacked her sounded different from the four guys in the car who’d been giving me trouble. The guys who attacked her all had white bandanas and white skull necklaces. Seemed like some sort of gang insignia.

Around one in the morning, I said bye to everyone and walked back to my mini van. What? I’m a middle aged single dad. What did you expect? Anyway, I got in the back and changed into my body armor. I checked to make sure no one was around, and got out, locking the van before I snuck into a nearby alley.

I snuck around in the dark until I found the street those four guys liked to frequent. And I waited. My anger continued to boil over as I waited. Not only was I gonna take out my life frustrations on them. I was gonna get them back for trying to kill me.

I waited a half hour. An hour. The street was empty. And I had to work the next morning. And I was already struggling a bit at my job. Finally a guy walked down the street and I saw their car show up, driving slowly behind him. They jumped out and he started running so I made my move.

I leapt out from the alley. “Hey, fuckers.”

The four guys in black turned to look at me as their quarry ran away. they started laughing and drew their knives. “Who the fuck are you?” one of them asked.

“Your worst nightmare,” was my response. I immediately regretted it. I mean what if that corny shit ended up sticking? What if “the Nightmare” ended up being my name. Actually I guess that’s not bad. Sounds more like a super villain than a superhero though. What do I care? I’m more of an antihero anyway.

So back to the story. They came at me and I high kicked a guy in the face. And those boots are pretty hard, as is the armor on the fists, so when I punched the other guys it also did quite a bit of damage. The fourth guy tried to hit me, and my block fucked up his hand pretty good. I stomped one guy for a bit and the others got back up and tried to stab me a few times but their knives deflected off. It almost seemed unfair at this point. That 2500 bucks was well spent.

So I kneed one guy in the head and uppercut his jaw, right hooked another, and roundhouse kicked the last one. They were all on the ground in pain so I took turns stomping the shit out of them. And I picked one poor random fuck and jumped on him and beat his face bloody. He spit blood out on me. “We’ve got friends. You ain’t seen the last of us whoever you are.” I punched him a few more times for good measure.

And as they all wallowed in pain, I took one of their knives and slit all four tires of their car. I threw the knife on the ground. “This is my neighborhood now. Stay the fuck out.”

“This ain’t your neighborhood,” one of them said. “You’re gonna be sorry.”

I stomped on that guy’s head a few more times for talking back. “Anyone else got anything to say?”

I left them all bleeding in the street and snuck back into the alley, heading back to my car with a shit eating grin on my face. Yeah. I’m a badass.

I had my second date with Michelle last night. She came to my first poetry open mic at the Train Stop. My old friend Stan who was a fairly well known Baltimore poet agreed to be the featured reader and he absolutely killed it as always, with his leather jacket beat punk rock stuff.

My old friend Kate, who I worked on the Towson University literary magazine with, also came. As did Chris and Billy. My friends Ben and Riley also showed up, a gay couple who I met at the Tuesday music open mics. Riley is a transgender man. And their friend Mitch came. My friend John was there, you know, the guy whose suggestion to treat myself led me to go on the walk that ended up sending me on my superhero trajectory. It was a good turnout. There were a few others, too, but my attention was on Michelle.

Billy read his usual dark, heroin-riddled Baltimore centric stuff. Chris always focused on wordplay and sci fi elements. His friend Nancy who like him is a member of the Baltimore Sci Fi Society was also there. Riley read some straight up amazing shit. It was a real revelation. I mean he’s gonna be famous one day if the right people find him. Kate read an amazing piece about mushrooms and interconnectivity. And Michelle read some exercises she did for one of my workshops, which were also amazing pieces. I was really impressed with the quality of the poetry people read.

And of course I read my sex riddled punk rock rants and raves and blues songs. Check some of my poems out of you haven’t. In between my lovesick depressed drivel about Mary Jane there's actually some halfway decent stuff I feel like. Other people seem to like it at least.

I talked to Gina the owner for a bit. She was quickly becoming my favorite bartender and a friend. We talked about our lives and I planned the next open mic with her. She seems to enjoy hosting them, which makes me happy. I always give her a huge tip.

Well, enough about the open mic. Hopefully I’m not boring the shit out of you, but this is a writing site so I figured I’d talk about some of my writer friends. I mean, I want to mix some real stuff from my life with my superhero fantasies. Hopefully it grounds it and makes it seem more real. I mean, most of this stuff really did happen after all.

After the open mic, Michelle, John, Riley and Ben, Billy and I all headed over to Mitch’s place to jam out on some experimental music. He lives in Bolton Hill which isn’t too far from Station North, where the Train Stop is and where I had the run ins with those four assholes who stabbed me.

John gave me some lessons on bass guitar which would be helpful the next time I played at church. Michelle held her own on the drums. Not surprising because even though she wasn’t a musician herself, she’d worked as a music journalist and photographer for a while. So after we left, Michelle and I hugged again. I know I know. Old fashioned. I still wasn’t ready to kiss her yet, though.

I went back to the van, made sure no one was around, and changed into my body armor with the red cross symbol. I’d read some stuff on my neighborhood app about a stick up artist near my Harford Road neighborhood but I figured that would have to wait. Tonight, I was hanging out in Station North.

I found some alley cats and practiced my stealth for a bit trying to sneak up on them. I actually caught one and was fairly proud of myself as it hissed and clawed at me. I let it go and it ran away.

I saw a homeless guy pissing in an alley. A homeless couple was fucking in a vacant lot and being pretty flagrant about it. One woman was walking around with her tits hanging out. A hooker maybe? That’s Baltimore for you. But none of them saw me as I snuck around in the dark hoping to find a crime developing.

I finally did as I saw a man dressed in black tailing a college girl. He drew a gun and I ran up behind him and kicked the gun out of his hand. He spun and I punched him in the face several times. He ran off into the night.

The girl smiled. “Thanks so much. I didn’t even notice him sneaking up on me.”

“No problem,“ I said. “All in a day’s work.” What was with this corny shit I kept saying to people? Comes with the territory I guess. Sorry, that was pretty corny too.

She nodded and I walked away. I found two guys beating up a guy and I approached them. They attacked me and I laid into them, leaving them bleeding in the street.

I found a third crime last night, two guys trying to pull away a woman’s purse. Again, I stopped them and beat the crap out of them. The woman thanked me. I was done for the night at that point, so I went back to my minivan, took off my armor and headed home.

This morning, I was all over Facebook and TikTok and Instagram and all that shit. Apparently someone had gotten a video of me beating up some crooks and posted it. The news interviewed two of the people I saved who were raving about me.

One person posted a video of the Baltimore Chief of Police giving a speech. “Vigilantism can get you killed. Do not do what this man is doing. We will pursue him with all of the tools and resources we have available. We need to put an end to this before it gets out of hand.” He shook his head. To some it already had.

So here I was the talk of the town. All over the internet and the news now. I was viral overnight, and for me that wasn’t good, although I have to admit, my ego wasn’t complaining. “What are they calling him?” a talk show host asked her guest.

He shrugged. “The Vigilante. That’s the name they’re using in the videos as well as in the street.”

Vigilante. I guess it could be way worse.

Yesterday was the Fourth of July. I’ve been in the new house for a year now though the kids have only been living here with me on weekends for a few months. Before that I was at the Pikesville house on weekends with their mom and them. And before that I was in that house with her, sleeping on the couch while she got the bed, even though I was paying for everything. I couldn’t stand sleeping in a bed with her so I had to move to the couch. Anyway. Baby steps. At least I see her as little as possible now.

And there’s the Mary Jane thing. I still can’t get over her even though things seem to be going well with Michelle. Baby steps. I started researching smoke bombs for my super hero escapades for when I need to make quick escapes. Baby steps.

So I’ve been considering real hard whether I should scrap this journal now that I’m internet famous, since I don’t want anyone somehow tracking me to here, figuring out who I really am, finding out where I live, and putting my kids at risk, but since hardly anyone actually reads this, I figure I’m okay. (And real life me is definitely okay since I only beat up the guys in the first chapter - unless they somehow find this. And I’m not really internet famous in real life since I’m not really a costumed super hero, even though the rest of this is mostly true. Jesus, can I get any more meta?) Anyway, long story short, this journal is staying, at least for now.

Monday night was my writing workshop. Afterwards, I went prowling up Harford Road in the Parkville and Hamilton area, looking for this guy who was all over the neighborhood app sticking people up. Didn’t sound like anyone had tried to fight back yet. This guy was about to be in for a big surprise. The app said he came up behind people who were walking alone at night, so armored up, I snuck through the shadows behind walls and next to buildings, through alleys and behind trees, looking for someone walking alone at night.

There was one guy I tailed for a while who saw me hiding behind a trash can and made a run for it. I thought about catching up to him and explaining to him I was trying to make sure he was safe from anyone else sneaking up on him, but coming from a guy in all black body armor with a red duct tape cross on his chest, I didn’t think that would go over so well.

Eventually I did see an elderly lady walking alone and a guy fitting the description, tall white guy with a green bandana, came up behind her with a gun. I leapt over the wall I was hiding behind and kicked the gun out of the guy’s hand. I was pretty fucking proud of that move, by the way. The guy tried to run. I waved to the confused, scared old lady and took off after him.

I caught up fast and tackled the guy. “No don’t kill me!” he shouted, flinching as I sat on top of him.

“I’m not gonna kill you,” I said as I punched him repeatedly in the face. “I’m just gonna beat the shit out of you. I mean, that’s pretty depraved trying to rob a poor little old lady.”

“No!” he shouted as I beat his face bloody. I’m pretty sure he was crying at that point. Now I just felt bad, which made me even more angry, so I punched him in the face a few more times for good measure.

I pointed at his bloody face and broken teeth. “This is my neighborhood. My city. I ever see you robbing people or doing anything else detrimental to the health or wellbeing of the good citizens of this town, and I’ll knock the rest of your teeth out and you’ll spend the rest of your life with bad dentures. Got it?”

He nodded, teary eyed and bloody faced.

Now on the Fourth, I met Michelle for dinner at a bar and we went to Federal Hill to watch the fireworks. It was crowded as hell and the fireworks display was shorter than usual because there was also a drone show we could barely see because it was angled the wrong way for most of the show, and by the end we were just trying to navigate Baltimore public transportation, tired as hell, but we were together and we enjoyed each other’s company.

And then at the end, when she drove me back to my car, I saw her put some gum in her mouth before she started driving, which put a smile on my face. I knew where this was going.

When we stopped, I went in for the kiss and we made out for a bit. She smiled at me with her pretty blue eyes. She was a tall, thin, pretty blonde with blue eyes. Not my usual type but she was pretty enough I didn’t care. “To be continued,” she said with a wink.

We said good night and I drove home. Not a bad week.