Detached

That is a giant McDonald’s sign I am sitting beneath. An hour ago I had little choice but to surrender my little four-door car (to a man that failed to either look me in the eye or offer me a seat) for eighty dollars, which nearly offset the balance I was charged for the 90 seconds it took to diagnose that the engine is now and forever more an inanimate object. Just an hour before that I was quite happily singing along to some post USA mediocre Bruce Springsteen song I forget the name of when the cruise control kicked off, the rotations per minute spiked for an instant then the engine quit. Luckily (to use the word in the loosest possible way) I was able to coast down exit 63 off I55 to rest at a service station in Blytheville, Arkansas. Look at a map, look how close. I did not even make it out of Arkansas. Three hours before that, the logistics had yet to be deviated from. Believe it or not I was out of bed, showered and on the road bound for Indiana by 6am.
Twenty miles out of Little Rock, near Galloway, I think it is called, I saw an unidentified flying object. (Seeing as though I have little interest and no experience in aeronautics the object is thus forth labeled as unidentified.) No kidding. Never in my life had I seen or knew anyone (I trusted) that has seen any tangible form of extraterrestrial life. There it was, two big headlights sitting a hundred feet directly above the interstate. It was pointed west as I drove east. The sun was not yet up so as I approached I could not make out the shape of the fuselage. The headlights were distinctively very far apart. Even as I passed under it, it seemed motionless. Through my review mirror I watched. There were no tail lights or upper propeller lights nor any sound which made me think it not a helicopter. As I retreated the craft gently veered south and out of sight.
This is, without a doubt, the most inconvenient time to be without cellular phonage due to late payment. It took three gas stations, two payphones and four dollars in quarters to finally reach David and beg him to make the six hour round trip to pick me up and bring me home. The beautiful, beautiful man did not even hesitate. He even sounded oddly thrilled at the prospect of a Thursday afternoon jaunt across eastern Arkansas. The people I choose as friends, my friends.
So now I sit here with no phone and no car and my computer and digital recording device has been taken from me. A model of divine devolution I am. At this particular moment in my life it is fortunate I am not a religious person. I would have no choice but to conclude that god is kind of a dick.. On the other hand this is just all too perfect. All this unnecessary business happens today and in the past couple weeks, or the past couple decades if I decide to get maudlin about it, and now I sit in the grass on this absolutely pristine day as if this moment has been handed to me.
There is no way to calculate how immensely I was anticipating this trip. Not many think a ten hour drive alone in a car without air conditioning would be a good idea. The only audio entertainment comes from the invisible envelopes of local radio air waves if I even bother to turn it up loud enough to drown out my thoughts. Enough time always passes for me to forget that I actually hate long drives alone, and it is not until seven hours in that I remember. But this trip was not about me, it was about seeing two close friends get married in my home town- in my neighborhood. I used to skateboard at the church that will be hosting the ceremony. I wanted to see everyone, and dance. I wanted to get away from everything if only for the weekend. I wanted to see if my parent’s house is still abandoned or if anyone has hung posters in my bedroom yet. Okay, so this weekend was about me.
It was to be a big weekend. On top of the wedding, another close friend was having a birthday party the next night. As well as a launch party for the radio show I write for in the city. A lot was going on. I really wanted a vegan Reuben from Earwax in Wicker Park. I wanted to go by my storage locker and get some of my supplies so I can return to making things. After having my creativity involuntarily removed surgically last year it is finally starting to grown back new. Maybe that was his intention all along but it still messed me up pretty good for a long time. It is still unclear to me why he thinks my father is a failure.
Maybe I should try to fall asleep here in my little corner of the grass beneath the giant McDonalds sign. It is warm and breezy. I have not been sleeping too well lately. I actually had a nightmare the other night. I never have nightmares, I rarely even remember dreams. This is the first time that I would wake up terrified to go back to sleep but it was all out of my control. It just kept happening. In the dream a family had blamed me for something ridiculous. I was trying to explain myself, unsuccessfully. Then the rest is my escape attempts, the climbing out of windows and running. I will not need The Interpretation of Dreams to figure that one out.
When I write I tend to dwell on the negative. My friend thinks that a therapist would be a good idea. I do not disagree, really. But this is what makes me feel better, feel real; perpetual self analyzation. Maybe it is not good to be so self aware but in the exceedingly rare times I can get myself in this place in which I can write with minimal doubt it feels like the necessary thing. If you, my friends, choose to read this and find something to relate to, something to laugh at or something that makes you understand- or not- so be it. Sometimes I seem closed off in the real world. I know myself and I know it just takes time for me to get comfortable enough to really open up and be myself completely, or as completely as I am able to. I am not sure I am capable of absolute honesty. I tried that before, it just allowed for true manipulation due to vulnerability. I want to. I do not want the terrors of the past to increase the thickness of the shell too much. Events and time inform the evolution of security versus insecurity, the essence of aware. If we let the fear prop up the walls too high then the ability to know other people is hampered and the ability to know ourselves is destroyed.


Alright, alright, so now what I have been putting off. This is exactly what happened Wednesday September 17th as I remember it. Tuesday night and into Wednesday morning I had been hanging out on 6th Street, Whiteweater, 6th Street again, then one last drink at Pizza D’s. About 1:30am I left my friends at the bar to walk home down Booker. About a block away from Pizza D’s I heard running footsteps coming up from behind me on my right. A man appeared beside me. We exchanged hellos, I thought he wanted bum a cigarette or something. He asked what I was up to and I said I was just going home. He walked beside me for another ten seconds before he pulled out a gun and asked me what I had. He was a black man, taller than me and a little bigger than me. Not fat, really, but bigger than me. Maybe 6’0”- 6’2” 200-240lbs, 25-30 years old, close cut hair but not shaved, a clean shaven face except for a neatly trimmed pencil mustache, a bright red t-shirt with no logo or pockets and dark pants, probably jeans. In a normal voice he asked me what I had. I gave him the wad of singles I had in my pocket, maybe $8. He wanted more so I pulled out my wallet and opened it to show that it was completely empty. I had my messenger bag with me as I was on my bike earlier. I showed him that all I had in it was a library book, a notebook and some deodorant, I think. I tried to not show him the hidden pocket with my cell phone and my digital recorder. Then he stopped me and had me turn around and head back to Pizza D’s. He asked me if I had any friends in the bar. I said that I just moved to town and didn’t know anyone. He said he wanted me to go in the bar and get someone to come out and walk down the street with me and if I did anything suspicious he would shoot me. As we approached the corner entrance to the bar I started to walk in but he pulled me away, something spooked him. Or he realized it was an infinitely stupid idea because the first thing I would have done is alert Poe to what was going on. That’s where I messed up. I should have just walked in but I was afraid he would have shot me in the back.
He turned me around and headed back down Booker. Just then another man was leaving the bar and getting into his car in the parking lot across the street from Pizza D’s. The gunman wanted me to go accost this guy. We walked up to him, my mind racing to think of anything to say to this guy but all that came out was “hey.” and maybe I said something about him having a gun. The gunman asked the guy what he had, the man said he had nothing and if he was going to shoot him to fucking shoot him. Then the gunman directed me to continue walking with him and the other man got in his car and left. Now we headed back down Booker. I tried to think of anything I could do but he was asking me questions the entire time. So as I am trying to figure out some plan to not take him back to my house and not get myself shot I am trying to give him noncommittal answers to his questions. I made the mistake of mentioning I had a roommate but I was trying to explain to him that we both just moved to town, we both have low paying jobs and we just honestly do not have anything. Go rob someone else; you fucked up by choosing me. That was gist of what I was trying to say to him. Then he wanted to see what I had in my bag again. I pulled out a codeine bottle with two pills in it and handed it to him. He took the pills out and tossed the bottle. The next day we found it and turned it in to the police in hopes of getting a print off of it.
I thought about running. I thought about just walking, but where would I go and how long would it take before he realized I was messing with him. I thought about saying I lived on the other side of town and my car was mysteriously parked 3 blocks from the bar I was at. But where would I drive to? I don’t even know where the police station is plus he probably would have shot me as soon as he realized I was not heading home but looking for help. I thought about pretending my car was at Whitewater and trying to get into the club. But seeing as that failed the first time it did not seem reasonable. Plus I did not want to run into any of my friends on the way and bring them into danger too. I thought about attacking him and he even thought I was going to and made sure I walked in front of him. All this was racing through my head in the couple of minutes it took to walk to my house all while he is asking me question after question.
So I messed up again, I caved in and did exactly what he wanted me to do. I opened my front door, we walked into the kitchen and I woke up my roommate. I shouted her name a few times before she was startled out of sleep. I think I said that I needed her to get up for a minute. She came out of her room and saw the man, and then he pulled out his gun. She had the same disbelief that this was really happening as I had. He asked what she had and she gave him the $20 she had in her purse. He asked what she had in the bank and she said maybe $700. He had me go back into the kitchen and put both our laptops into my bag. While in the kitchen I managed to sneak my phone out of my bag and into my pocket in hopes I would get a moment to make a call. The gunman demanded that we take him to the bank to withdraw as much money as she could, repeating that he would shoot us if we tried anything.
As we approached my roommate’s car he asked if it was a stick shift. It was, so he had her drive, which is probably what prevented him from stealing the car too. He tried to get in on the passenger side but kept pulling up the handle as she was hitting the unlock button, frustrating him. I eventually had to lean up from the back seat to unlock the door for him. I sat in the back seat behind my roommate. The gunman demanded my zip up sweater; he used it to cover his head and gun from the cameras at the bank. He kept the gun pointed at either of us the entire time. We got to the bank, my roommate withdrew $300. He demanded she try it again and she was able to withdraw $300 a second time. A third attempt just gave a receipt saying insufficient funds. He demanded we drive back to our house. We got out of the car upon arrival. He pointed gun at us from the street as we climbed the stairs to the house. He said he knew where we lived and if we called the police he would come back and kill us. Once inside, we immediately called the police.