I sit at one of the bar-like counters at a Starbucks on the Upper East Side. My Vente coffee is lukewarm and I should be writing but instead I’m answering messages on Myspace. I tell myself that I’ll get to work in another ten minutes. I hear an scratchy, unpleasant voice near by to me.
Yo, that shit is fly!
Startled, I look behind. A vagrant stands, staring at my lap top with devious eyes.
I gots to get me one of those shits! You be tawking to crazy bitches on that shit, huh? That’s that internet shit!
He’s disgusts me. His clothes are dirty and ill fitting. I don’t get the impression that he is homeless. He probably lives with some unfortunate old lady who is his grandmother.
Yeah, you should. I respond, uncomfortable that he’s standing right behind me.
I observe him. He is from the Bronx. I know this because the 4, 5 and 6 subway lines is at the corner. Brooklyn is much too far away for him to come from to loiter the way he is. I also know that he has both neurological and psychological issues from his darting eyes and random twitches. This is a man who has done a lot of different drugs like angel dust, cocaine, crack and heroin. His jagged, yellow teeth tell me that he hasn’t seen a dentist since he was probably a child. His swollen baseball mitten hands tell me that his current drug of choice is heroin and he is most likely to be H.I.V. positive. I wonder if he was recently released from jail or a mental health facility. It’s hard to tell. Why do I think he was recently institutionalized? Because he is over 220 lbs, looks healthier than he should and looks like he doesn’t have two quarters to his name. He was fed well somewhere. I’ve seen his type too many times.
Yo, arkee…where can I get me one of those?
I now know that the answer to my last question is prison by the Islamic reference. I look him in the eye. My voice is evenly measured.
At the store.
I censor out the “motherfucker!” that I am thinking in my head.
Oh. You’re funny. That’s a bet! That’s a bet!
Will you please get from behind me? It’s making me uncomfortable.
What? I can stand anywhere I want. You afraid? You afraid?
My pleasant, mild mannered mood slips away rapidly. Rage starts bubbling up inside my gut. I look at the scumbag. He’s eyeing my most treasured possession like a vulture. I sense that he wants to rob me and this is making me very angry. I want to hurt him for it.
Fuck that! He announces. I’m sure this is to me indirectly. The dirty vagrant ditty bops, holding his crotch with exaggeration, outside the store. Even though it is night and dark outside I can see clearly that he walks across the street and loiters behind a parked, white flower delivery van. I see him peeking at me from outside the side window. I think about how stupid he is.
I question myself. Why is this bothering me so much? The answer is too deep within and I’m feeling too much rage at this point to be truly be honest with myself. I go through the slow process of shutting down my IBM ThinkPad and pack up my belongings. I still make a conscious effort to consider my actions. There’s a battle going on within me. Things are at stake. I’ve worked hard on myself. This guy is just a scumbag, not worth going to jail for or getting infected with H.I.V. if we should exchange blood in a physical altercation. My higher self speaks to me. My lower self doesn’t want to let it go. I leave the store. There are two ways I can go. Towards the more crowded, safer Lexington Avenue or I can lure him to towards a desolate Park Avenue where almost anything can happen without a witness. I choose Park. I do not acknowledge that I am as stupid as I can be wise. I walk slowly on purpose. With every step, adrenalin seeps into me, making it easy for me to visualize murder. I feel alive and admit that I am getting off by instigating drama for myself. My instincts speak to me. I stop and suddenly turn around. They rarely fail me. The vagrant is one foot behind me. Any closer and I would be able to feel his breathe on my neck. I look him in the eye. He can not maintain eye contact. He reaches into the inside of his dirty, ugly Ecko Unlimited coat pocket. I grab the elbow of the arm that he’s reaching with and hold it so that he can not move it. I have no idea what he has, if anything.
What are you going to do? I asked. My voice tensed.
Nothing Arkee. My stogies. Why you tripping?
You want to rob me, you motherfucker! My voice raises three decibels higher.
Let go of my arm.
My grip is tight. I raise his arm higher against his will, his hand still trapped in the inside pocket of his jacket. I have to let him know who’s in control. I find this is way too easy for me and this guy is pathetic piece of shit.
I didn’t do anything! He cries. Almost like a little boy.
You didn’t do anything? Noooo, you were just going to sneak me from behind and try to take my shit.
His words begin to haunt me. I didn’t do anything! I feel an uncomfortable sense of deju vu.
I thought you were a white boy!
WHAT?
My bad, I said. I thought you were a white boy, yo. His voice is cracked and small.
Your bad is right because I am a fucking white boy, dick!
I don’t feel the need to explain my whole ethnicity to him. I release his arm. Within two seconds each of my thumbs are firmly pressed against his eye sockets. I wonder exactly how much force it would require to blind him. Probably not as much as it takes to push 225 lbs off my chest.
Don’t fucking move, or I’ll change your life in five seconds flat, bitch.
Okay! Okay!
Now walk.
I lead him with my thumbs in his eyes towards the wall of the building in front of us.
Do you like this?
I didn’t do anything! He pleads.
The words bring me back to my childhood and it confuses me. I visualize myself naked and wet in the bathtub. My aunt Elsie whips me with a thick suede belt. The water makes the suede stick to my wet skin one second longer than usual, inflicting that much more pain through out every nerve on my body. Each strike feels unbearable. I hate my aunt Elsie for doing this to me and want her to die. The water from the shower stings the raw welts formed on my little body. With each strike, I cry out the same exact words the vagrant does: I didn’t do anything! The words make me feel both sympathetic and more angry. Just when I thought I had such demons in check, this asshole had to come along and fuck with me. I want to kill.
But I can not kill him nor can I blind him I decide for myself. If I do, both he and Elsie win. I can not allow this. Tears want to flood up but I can’t allow this either. I’m very aware that at this very second, my mental health is being tried. I start to feel sick underneath it all. My limbs tremble unvoluntarily. The rush isn’t so much fun anymore.
A well to do resident with fine clothes walks out of the building with his little bitch dog. He stares at my thumbs pressed against the eyeballs of my new friend. It takes him seconds to assess the situation. He knows that it is not good. I smile, trying to throw him off, but I can tell by his face that he is too smart for this.
How’re you doing tonight, sir. It’s cold out here. Isn’t it? I ask him, not giving up.
The man doesn’t answer; instead he goes back inside his building. The doorman of the building steps out seconds later. He is young in his mid thirties and Irish looking. His eyes are tough. He can’t possibly have enough information to make an adequate choice. He looks like the hero type and can make trouble for me. I stare him in the eyes with intense eyes that reveal the rage within me. He gets the message and steps back into his building. Even though I am relieved, I know that within minutes the police will arrive and I might feel the cold sharp steel ridges of handcuffs digging into the thin skin of inside of my wrists. This is the Upper East Side, home to some of the most expensive real estate earth has to offer. The authorities will ask questions later rather than sooner, just to save the citizens the indiginity of such a scene happening on their sidewalks.
I have to make a choice and I have to make it now. I release the vagrant’s eyes. The relief on his face pisses me off more. He knows as much as I do, that this wasn’t adequate punishment and like a child, he will learn nothing of his potentially deadly mistake. Within the hour, he will attempt to rob another innocent person. I can not accept this knowledge or maybe I’m justifying my actions. I don’t even know.
I open my right hand and I throw all 205 pounds of my person into the slap I land on his face. Like a child, he is stunned and paralyzed with shock. His eyes are wide and emotionless. This is exactly the reaction I expected.
Look at me. I demand.
He doesn’t want to. He is reduced to nothing but a shamed child.
Look at me! I raise my voice.
He looks at me, but barely. It is good enough.
If I ever see you around here again, I will do something to you that you will never recover from. You understand?
He nods.
You fucking understand?
He nods again. He is full of shit. He only understands the drug that he is craving. But I decide it’s time for me to flee the scene. I walk towards Lexington and mix in with the crowd.
The beast within me is still awake and angry. I shuffle through my I-pod and listen to Jill Scott. I know that the softness of her voice will soothe and calm me like a lullaby. I tell myself, I am not such a bad guy after all, but I do not believe myself and I do not like myself because of it. There are no black and whites with me. Just lots of shades of grey.
Posted on November 19, 2007 at 05:34 PM | Comment (10 comments)
