Sunday, October 31, 2010

dear diary... part 1

Wednesday, October 14, 10:45pm I was walking home from a friends house, when I was attacked. It was strange.

I was walking toward two young, good looking black kids, we both nodded at the appropriate point before passing each other, and then, as they faded into my periphery, something happened. I got blasted. Hard. Rocked with a fist to the jaw, with what I can only imagine was the full force of someone having the opportunity to prepare a full sucker-punch windup. It knocked me back, my jaw/head/neck area going back and to the side from the rest of my body. It was so fast, but I seemed to be in slow motion. I felt like one of those big inflatable clown things, that you bop in the face, and then they slowly spring back up.

What the hell was that?

I straightened out quickly, my adrenaline kicking in, and I realized a half-second too late from where my confusion and pain originated. It was this fully outstretched fist, connected to a good-looking young black kid, which was a heartbeat from smashing into my face. Again. WTF?

Pow! (emphasis placed on the ow.) This time it was a little further back. The first hit was closer to the point of my chin, but from the side. This one connected fully on the side of the jaw. I saw a flash of white, heard a loud crunch, felt my bottom teeth shift somewhere they definitely did not belong, and tasted blood, and something else I couldn't recognize.

I covered my head, screamed something about not having money, and swung a wild fist in his direction, though at this point he'd turned and started half-shuffle trotting away with his buddy.

What the fuck just happened? Did I get jumped? Am I hurt? Why didn't they try to take my money? Why did they run away? My face doesn't hurt a whole lot at the moment, but I can already tell it's crazy swollen, and my teeth are definitely not where they were a minute ago. Fuck, my jaw hurts. Is it dislocated? It feels dislocated. I move my tongue around searching for the inevitable teeth that I will be spitting out, but nothing comes loose.

I spit on the light gray concrete of the sidewalk in front of the Fireside Bowl, expecting some blood. What comes is a stringy mouthful of brownish red, with darker bits of god knows what. Shit. That's not good. Not at all.

I called 911 as I walked home, looking over my shoulders, and dipping down a side road and through an alley. I mumbled briefly through what happened, the details pretty clear in my mind. My keys make it straight into the lock, and I find myself telling my roommate, a friend, and some foreign girl about what the hell just happened.

I quickly get through the story, and come back to the part where my teeth feel fucked up. Like for real guys, like it's dislocated or something. They assure me that if that were the case, I'd be in a lot more pain, and probably wouldn't be able to tell the story like I was. I consider their input. My cell phone rings. The police are outside.

I go downstairs, where the police are in their truck, and tell them the same story.

"They didn't try to rob you?
"Are you sure?"
"Well, if that's the case..."
So I could ride down to the station and fill out a report, though for just battery. But they're sporting the same logic as my roommate, friend, and newly friended foreign lady. If it was really bad, I'd be in more pain, and probably wouldn't be talking to them so calmly. I got hit in the face twice, so it's sure to be swollen. Take some Ibuprofen and try to relax.


We'll take the description, run it, and keep a lookout for anyone matching the description in the area.


Honestly, I was pretty exhausted and didn't feel like going down to the station anyway.

I took some Ibuprofen, had a stiff drink, and went to bed.


TaylorStreet said...

Jay, I don't think anyone knows you have blogged since it's been so long. Link to it on facebook!

marthamatters said...

I mean. . .did this really happen?