September 9, 2012
I’m not in jail.
I’m not at home, but I’m
not in jail. It’s a weird series of emotions
that I’m in right now. On the one hand, I’m
torn from…everything. I am gone from my
house, the people I knew, the food that I felt so familiar with. In that sense I’m bereft. But at the same time, I’m actually accepting
some of it. I’m not in jail awaiting a
trial I know I’d surely lose. I’m not
being hounded by a mob of reporters anymore, with my face plastered on the six
o’clock news. Best of all, I’m
alive. And I wasn’t so sure of that last
week.
I did try to rob that
bank. I thought I had it all planned
out. During the day, it’s amazing how many
people go up on a roof to smoke. They don’t
look around the roof, they don’t try to spot anything unusual, just need a dose
of nicotine, and then it’s a piece of gum and leave. I just had to make sure the door didn’t
close, and put some tape on the lock. Went
back, all dressed in black, and ready to make some money. Or steal it, I don’t know what the phrase is…
Anyway, I’m getting
ready, all set up to walk in, when I hear this screeching noise. It’s tires, and I turn around to see this
minivan start screaming down the street.
I know, my first thought was that I finally saw a minivan go over 55,
but it’s…it’s…it wasn’t right. The van
was fishtailing, driving all over the place, and oh, my, God…someone’s driving
a minivan wasted. Again, another first
for me.
I step to the edge of
the roof, hoping to get a good look, and I see this father just slamming down a
bottle of liquor. I mean, all windows
are down, I’m pretty sure if I were on the street I could smell the Russian
oozing out of him. And that’s fine by
me. you know, whatever man, you want to
get drunk and drive, just don’t do it around my house. Or what used to be my house. I’ll read about you in the arrest reports
later.
He starts going past me
as I’m turning and all of a sudden I hear another scream. Another quick look, and he’s got, you know, a
child in there. Backseat, and the only
smart thing this bastard has done was put his little toddler in a kid seat and
strapped her in. and he’s getting
faster.
I’m not a superhero, so
get that out of your mind. I’m not
planning on donning tights and a cape and zooming around the night sky stopping
robberies. That’s a great way for me to
get shot. And I was about to commit a
robbery so I could, you know, sympathize.
But there’s some innate human-ness…thing, that won’t just let a child
get hurt. There’s something about the
scream of a child that turns a bastard into a saint. I jump off the roof and I’m soaring after
that minivan. Slide up alongside the
car, undo the child safety belt, and grab her right out of the car. The guy was so drunk he didn’t even see me.
I walked her over to the
nearest police station, and gave the plates.
Best thing I did was tell them if he got shot, he was probably so drunk
he’d laugh. I hope he finds some nice
people in prison.
And then I robbed the
bank. Took about fifty thousand dollars,
and just left. I have a couple days’
worth of clothes and the money in a duffel bag.
I’m at an internet café, and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.
Do those actions cancel
each other out? I mean, it’s a big bank,
they have insurance, they’ll be covered, right?
On the other hand, what did that little kid have? The hope that plastic would hold up to a
crash at sixty miles an hour plus. I think
the balance there is a little in my favor.
I’m going to walk around
for awhile. Maybe find the odd job,
maybe just try and get my head straight on what happened last month. All I know is, I’m different. And that’s okay.
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