Shaken, Still

It was December near Christmas time. I had flown home from Davis, near Sacramento, to my home in Lakewood (near Long Beach/L.A.). I was thrilled to be home, and to be enjoying the holidays with my friends, family, and a girlfriend who has stayed with me and been good to me, even with 400 miles between us.

My first night home, we watched a movie at my parents' house. It was probably around midnight when the movie finished and I walked her out to her car. It was a long goodnight, as is to be expected after those months of separation. I was about to send her on her way when I noticed three people walking on the sidewalk toward us. They set off one of those sensing lights. I remember being nervous, but dismissing it. Lakewood is a quiet city with reasonably low crime rates, and I assumed the best about the three: they were on their way somewhere and couldn't drive. It was another three seconds or so before their behavior made it obvious that I was mistaken. They spread out, two in the street, one on the sidewalk, and continued to walk toward us.

I knew what was happening before he said the words, before they pulled out their guns. I calmed myself, resolved to keep my composure, and give them no reason to do harm.

"Money, wallets. Now. Don't make no noise, and I don't wanna see no cops, or we come back and shoot up the block."

I told them I had no money... I remember thinking (even then) that it was funny that I told them so in the same way you might tell a bell ringing Santa or a beggar outside of a grocery store. It was true. I was broke. I even showed them, but they took the wallet anyway. They took my girlfriend's purse, with maybe $200 and a three day old iPod nano. The speaker had a big gun. A revolver, black, with an obviously larger bore than his two silent and nervous cohorts. I don't know very much about guns, so I'll say no more than that.

Then he rifled through my pockets. I don't care about the stuff, but he put his hands in my pockets with the gun against my chest, right in front of my house.

In addition to the purse and wallet, he got my digital camera, but that's really not important. I didn't mind canceling all my cards that night. I didn't mind going to the DMV to get a new license. I didn't even mind that I lost my favorite toy.

They took my sense of security. They took my sense of safety. They took my positive outlook, and they took my trust for others. I was shaking and seeing hooded black men watching me in every car that passed that night as I gave my report to the officer. I was sure I was going to be shot right there by the patrol car every time a car rolled by. (I didn't know what they were driving, because after they finished they ran off around a corner, presumably to a waiting car).

I had been a mildly paranoid... or strongly cautious, take your pick... person before, but now I am on constant alert, day or night, everywhere. I imagine being car jacked. I imagine break ins in my home. I imagine random shooting and shadowy figures emerging from the night.

It kept me up many a night, and still does on occasion now, eight months later. I imagine what else I might have done. I imagine, as unrealistic as I *know* it is, disarming the first and killing the others. Or sending my girlfriend driving on first sight of them. Or at least following them around the corner to see what they drove.

But mostly, over and over again, I imagine blowing them away with that big gun that had pressed so cold against my own chest.