Bang, Bang. . . Don’t Shoot Me Down!

9:26 P.M. – 12:06 A.M US Central Time/Home

[imood mood at time of entry: anxious]

Time logs denote the times that I stopped to do other things, such as watch Sex and the City and to cook myself some dinner.

I had always heard the disturbing pop of gunfire near my home, especially on New Year’s Day, and dreaded the thought of a stray bullet coming through the roof, windows, or front door to harm any of the occupants of my household. I’d seen the results of other careless discharged firearms on television via the news programs, movies, and television shows enough times to know that such an event could happen to just about anyone. That is the problem with bullets that have no particular aim, they even have the potential to harm the shooters’ own loved ones.

Last week, I got the chance to be even closer to a fired bullet than televised reality or neighbors who fire their guns into the air to “celebrate.” In fact, I happened to be in the direct vicinity of a bullet that had an aim in particular.

9:34 P.M.
10:96 P.M

No, I was not shot. I had been, I highly doubt that I would be sitting here writing about it with the intention of posting such an entry on my online journals. I’d probably be much more traumatized and not able to walk to the college to use their computers.

I was, however, the witness to a shooting – sort of.

I was walking home from the college last Friday, and I had been thinking about the responses to the challenge and the different storylines that I use to entertain myself as I walk to all of my destinations. As I rounded the corner of the old Pricebusters building, I vaguely watched as a car pulled up to one of the STOP signs that dot the mall’s parking lot. That car’s driver looked into the rearview mirror and made a right hand turn into the actual parking lot to circle around instead of continuing on his way along the driving lane. Another car pulled up to the STOP sign as the first car re-entered the driving lane.

I remember simply strolling along and watching the first and second cars with an airy sense of interest. The most that I can remember of the first car was that it had blue lights underneath it, the driver was wearing a red cap, and its paint might have been black.

10:17 P.M.
11:18. P.M.

The second car was dark blue, I think. At least that is the impression that I somewhat vaguely remember.

Anyway, car descriptions aside, I continued to walk along and watch as the respective vehicles rolled to a halt. I still didn’t have any idea of the situation to come, because I was in the best space of calm and contentment than I had been in for while. It was just something about parts of last week that had allowed me this reprieve.

As I approached one of the tall cement pillars that lined the front of the old Pricebusters store and the restaurant next to it, the driver of the second car got out his vehicle and walked back toward the first one. The way in which he stormed to the first car spoke of his anger. The manner in which he held his silver pistol in front of his groin clearly divulged his intent. He was obviously looking to settle some type of grievance with Driver #1.

Upon seeing the pistol, I ran to hide behind one of the large pillars that held up the restaurant’s covered walkway. No sooner had I moved to do flee, Driver #2 reached Driver #1’s door and demanded that he get out of his car. All I could think was that I didn’t want a bullet to come flying and hit me in the head, but I knew that I really ought to get a look at the men involved. Unfortunately (or is fortunately?), a ridiculously large palm-like tree grows beside the pillar I was seeking shelter behind, so I could not see the men clearly anymore. But, at least they could not see me either. At least that is what I told myself.

After my failed attempt to survey the scene, I leaned against the pillar breathing hard and frightened out of my wits. When I thought the situation could get no worse, I heard a gun fire. I didn’t know if there would be more shots to follow or not, but I knew that I wanted more than anything to be away from those men and that restaurant.

I knew that some people classified my neighborhood as dangerous in some areas, but my own street had never been like that. Not particularly. At that moment, I wanted to find some way to get back to my own area of the neighborhood without either of the following things happening: being shot or being spotted as a potential witness. Being shot wouldn’t be pleasant, because Heaven only knows where the bullet might have landed, and being a witness to any crime could mean a person’s life.

When I didn’t hear an immediate shot follow the first, I ran towards the movie theater in hopes of making it around the cement barrier that enclosed some piece of large property that belonged to the theater. If I could make it there, I might stand a chance of not being hit in the back or the head.

Even as I hurried away, there was a man standing on the sidewalk in clear view of the two cars and their respective drivers. He was casually talking on his cell phone as though people simply started shooting at one another in parking lots every day. Or, in that specific parking lot, to be more precise. I called out to him to run, because people were in fact shooting, and he could be harmed. I am still baffled by the fact that he just complacently stood there and did nothing to get out of the way.

Once I made my way around the theater’s barrier, I nearly bumped into a couple that was enjoying a night out together with absolutely no regard to what just happened. Further along this same stretch of sidewalk, there was a group of teenage girls I am assuming to 14-17-years-old standing in a group as they awaited their rides home. One was blowing a kiss to world as she proclaimed that she had love for everybody.

I could not make sense of things. A man had just demanded that another human being get out of his car, and then a shot was fired. What in the hell was wrong with these people? I honestly couldn’t, and still can’t, fathom it.

I power walked home as fast as my brother’s slides would allow, and I became increasingly paranoid with each step. I looked around my surroundings even more than usual. I was scared that the shooter would come after me and “get rid of the witness.” I couldn’t help but jump at every car that passed too closely or slowed down next to me. In fact, the car that slowed down and pulled into the parking lot situated several long blocks from the mall in front of me took the cake. I crossed the street and watched to see if the car would follow. It didn’t, to my knowledge.

All I knew was that one of the cars of the people involved was blue, and I didn’t want them to catch me. It is not as though I would have been hard to spot either, since I wear a light-colored jacket on cool days and nights.

I kept trying to tell myself that the shooter could have missed his target, and that perhaps Driver #1 was okay. Driver #2 could have hit the backseat or the ground. But, unbidden, imagines of Driver #1’s head blown open kept swirling into my mind. It even made itself into one of my storylines for easy digestion. You know, so that it would appeared detached from my own real life.

When my brother got home that night, I told him what happened through deep breaths and a frustrated twitch that wondered what was wrong with him as well. He did not seem the least bit upset by the story as I had been. I guess it might be partly due to the fact that he wasn’t there. But if that was the case, what explanation can be give for the lackadaisical people who were there?

Now that a few days have passed and the desperate urge to write this all down and fear of visiting my local mall has receded somewhat, I don’t know if my reaction was overblown. All I know is that I was afraid, and that I could have very nearly come face-to-face with one of my greatest fears – being shot in the head.

I do wonder if the men were apart of some gang or another. They were both Hispanic, and the MS13 gang has moved into the area in the last decade or so. In fact, I once stood beside a member in the Downtown library as I used the Internet, and didn’t recognize him for what he truly was until I saw reports on several different news programs that focused on how violent this gang is supposed to be. I just recalled seeing a Hispanic man with a squiggly MS13 tattooed on his right hand and a teardrop by his right eye, and briefly wondering what it meant before I forced myself to turn away, lest he get any ideas about me looking at him too hard. I surmised that he must be a part of some gang or another, but I didn’t know anything about this MS13 then.

Regardless of his potential affiliations, I tried not to judge the shooter as a “bad person,” because I simply do not know the reasoning behind what he did. I do not know anything more than a few blurred details that I am unluckily luck to have, since my mind had attempted to shut out the entire scene while it was taking place. Part of me wishes that I could remember more about what happened clearly, but what good would it do? Would I go to the police and place a report about a suspect who is long gone? I don’t think so. I couldn’t even make up my mind about it the night that it happened.

But what if I did go to the police, all of whom I wouldn’t trust with my life, let alone the secrecy of my identity if I did become some sort of a witness? What exactly would I accomplish? Would I help to make the streets “safer” or cause myself a load of unnecessary trouble? I know that it is those who don’t speak up who truly help to allow the atrocities of our world to occur, but I don’t know if this was one such situation.

I did begrudgingly return to the mall the next day, because I had to know how badly things had gone once I’d left. (I also had tasks to accomplish online.) I had to see for myself if my half-formed visions of spilt skulls and a grieving family had any basis. They didn’t. I forced myself to walk past the stretch of drive where it happened, and I didn’t see any blood on the driving lane. None.

*sighs*

Either way, I am rather glad that I got all of this out where it belongs. It’s been bogging me down for days.

I think that I need some sleep, because I’ve had a busy day, and I’ll have another one tomorrow.

*love around*

Danielle