No one believes you because. You’ve heard about it on the news, known a few friends of friends here and there. It can get ugly. But do these things really happen to people like you?
Imagine this: you spent a long day at the factory, working like a dog. You have to stay late because someone bails his shift, leaving you with twice the workload. This drags on four extra hours, then you’re free to go. You don’t have a car, but it’s relatively safe for a 6’4,’’ 250lbs man to walk the streets of Cleveland after dark. Or so you think.
“Salt of the earth,” honest, hardworking. You taught your kids their alphabets, their manners, their loyalty to the flag. Your wife is a schoolteacher; beautiful, smart, can bake a mean apple pie.
So, you’re walking home. You approach a streetlight illuminating a small, quivering figure. As you get closer, you realize it’s a young woman. She seems alarmed.
“Fine night we have here,” you say as you nod your head.
You look at the girl. She has makeup smeared down her cheeks. Her blonde hair is messy. Dirty. She wears a tight, short, green dress and carries a small black purse. You look into her eyes and see vulnerability.
“Ma’am, are you holding up alright?” You ask in your gentlest voice.
You wait. She starts to cry, covers her face with her hands. She tells you she got in a fight with her boyfriend. Dropped her off here on the sidewalk, told her to find her own way home. Thing is, she’s not from around here. Got an accent. Got no idea where to go or what to do. No phone, no money.
Shocked, you reassure the girl that she’s safe, that you’ll take her to Shaker Heights with you. Get her off the streets where your wife will take care of her. She doesn’t answer, but faces the road, leaning over and crying some more.
She turns around with a .45 automatic raised to your face.
“J-Jesus, stay calm,” You stutter.
You’re fucked.
She demands you give her your wallet. All you have is a $5. She throws the wallet to the sidewalk, cursing. Her vulnerability has been replaced by a hard evil. And she’s downright pissed you’ve got nothing. She eyes your wedding band.
“That!” She points to it with her free hand. “Give it to me.”
Anything but that.
Three years of saving went into that goddamn ring. Shit, it was even engraved.
ETERNALLY YOURS.
“Now listen…” You try to reason with her.
But she tells for you to shut-the-fuck-up. You panic. You think of your kids, of your wife. Of this gun in your face.
Without realizing, you lunge. You grab her wrist in your left hand, simultaneously squeezing. Hard. With your right hand, you rip the pistol from her fingers and you throw it as far as you can.
Splash, into a small pond. The girl freezes. Her face is blank, her mouth contracting like a fish.
“Stay. Calm.” You beg her. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
As if that were the cue, she lets out a blood-curdling shriek. A shriek so loud it scares the shit out of you. It’s fucking unearthly. She starts thrashing around, and you’re holding her wrist because you don’t know what to do next. You frantically search the purple night, praying a car rolls by.
“Bro, what are you
doing?!” A teenage boy runs across the road towards you both.
You let go of her wrist.
“HELP ME!” The girl screams, “HE’S TRYING TO RAPE ME!”
Your heart sinks into the pit of your body. Your stomach tightens, your head feels faint. No. This isn’t real, it’s some sick, depraved nightmare. This isn’t happening.
“No you don’t understand son, she was trying to rob me. She had a gun!
“What gun?” She says, smirking through her tears.
