Have you ever had a near death experience? Can you remember every detail of it? Or was it just a blur you vaguely remember? I wish that was the case. . . but it’s not. Now, of course, this series of unfortunate events didn’t occur out of nowhere. There was always a ripple in the pond pushing me toward the middle of these damned situations. Situations I wouldn’t wish upon my biggest foes. (Not that I have any). If these situations were even the slightest bit different I would not be here to recount. This is the tale of events that have changed a boy into a man far earlier than he should have been.
The first of this trilogy of events occurred in the 8th grade. I lived in a house where my parents were hardly ever home and my brother was constantly in and out of jail. Most days I would get out of football practice and come home to what would be an empty house except for my two dogs. My parents never left me any money for food or anything else, and often, they’d be gone for a week or two at a time. I never knew when they’d be back, and I’d never ask. I learned early on not to ask too many questions. If I waited long enough, they’d answer themselves anyway. On these days I knew what must be done. I had to tap into my alter ego. It was time to tap into the knowledge I grew up obtaining: street smarts. I had to run the streets. I had to hustle. After spending about 30 minutes with my dogs, walking them, feeding them etc., I would go to my underwear drawer, take one of my many drawstring backpacks (depending on which matched my outfit that day) and stuff into it all kinds of stolen items like color-coded pill bottles of assorted drugs, my MP3, and my infamous pair of brass knuckles. I would put on my black hoodie and Timberland boots and make sure I locked the door. I didn’t want what I did to get back to my family. I was well-respected on the streets for the most part, but it wasn’t always that way. When you’re new to the streets, you don’t just get respect. In my hood you either earned it or you took it. I did both. I earned it from some people by taking it from others. My older brother was already notorious and unbeaten on the streets. The rumor on the streets was that his little brother wasn’t too far behind him. Some people like to test rumors, and that was exactly how it became a rumor no longer. That’s also how that pair of brass knuckles came to be notorious.
One morning on my way to my bus stop, before the darkness crept away, a couple of guys walked up to me. Both white. Neither one of them knowing who I was or what I was capable of, began to catch my suspicion. I was wearing that same black hoodie with my black and white Nike drawstring backpack dangling down my back from my shoulders. With my hands in the front pocket of my hoodie with the brass knuckles already wrapped around my fingers, I began strolling down my driveway. The first guy strode past like he was just walking by, but stepped toward me as he passed and rammed his shoulder into mine spinning me around as the second guy walked up behind me and asked, “What’s in the bag, Kid?” At this point, I knew exactly what this was...and I was ready for it. I responded, “None of your f******g business unless you’ve got something for me.” I slowly slid my hands out of my pockets and neither one noticed the metal shell over my knuckles. Just as the second guy stepped forward, I reciprocated and slammed my reinforced fist straight into his mouth, then immediately turned around to catch the first guy charging towards me. I ducked and threw a clean right hook right into his shadowed jawline. I could feel the sickening crunch of his mandible disintegrating behind my metal fist. With both men writhing on the pavement in excruciating pain, I simply picked up where I left off, put my earbud back in and continued on my way to the bus stop. It was at that moment that I began earning the respect I’ve come to demand. My brother and I separately were not very pleasant to deal with, and together, we were unstoppable. Nobody on the block had the audacity to mess with us. I was known for having just won the Junior Golden Gloves Championship in Georgia, so my fists alone could do some damage, but with the added destruction of brass knuckles, I was fatal. My brother was simply a slim guy that didn’t give up and did some damage himself.
Another one of those days came by. I woke up to an empty house, same routine...but not quite. This time I couldn’t remember where I put my knuckles after I cleaned them. Naively I figured I would be fine without them this one time. I came to rue that very big mistake. That morning I ran into those same guys. They had their mouths wired shut, but they didn’t need to speak to get their point across. It hadn’t occurred to me until that very moment that they were angry, they wanted revenge, and they knew exactly where I was going to be and when I was going to be there. I knew this could go south instantly and it did. I tried to walk by without them noticing. That was beyond wishful thinking. I wasn’t alone when I got to the bus stop. There were a number of guys waiting for me there; I didn’t take the time to count, but I knew there were more than I could handle alone. I was alone and without my primary weapon. I knew I couldn’t stop the inevitable, but I wasn’t about to let it happen without a fight either. I couldn’t fight them all off, but I know I dropped at least three of them before I was overpowered. I heard the distinct sound of a pocket knife flipping open. Before I could react I felt a serrated pain in my chest, and suddenly it was over. Just like that they all backed away and turned and ran.
I didn’t understand why until I tried to sit up and instantaneously felt a prolific dizziness. I lifted my head just enough to see my shirt pooling with blood flowing around a knife protruding from my chest and found my breath beginning to shorten. The world, as I know it, graying and fading from my eyes. As I began to slowly open my eyes, I found I was still lying on my back, having to squint at the blinding, white lights above me. The faint electronic beeps in the background were slowly creeping into consciousness. Becoming instantly aware of the voices surrounding me, growing louder...clearer. I began to feel profusely anxious, a cold shiver shooting down my spine. A vain attempt to sit up brought the blunt realization that I could not. A tsunami of panic flooded me as I realized I was being restrained at each of my limbs. I violently tried to free myself in a deranged state. My heart rate began to skyrocket as the numerous tubes and wires dragging and pulling at my flesh left a burning sensation screaming across my body. I finally freed one of my arms and immediately the foreign voices rushed me to pin me down. The scream I gave off could have challenged that of any beast. They began yelling at me. At first I couldn’t tell what they were saying, but as the beeping in the background turned into a drumroll, the world began to fade and muffle itself again, I could make out, “...need to calm down, your heart's going to…” then a slightly longer beep before I reentered the comforting blackness.
