5/25/24

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.