“i keep my ideals, because in spite of everything i still believe that people are really good at heart.” – anne frank
I should have killed him, I keep thinking. There’d be the occasional “you killed him over a phone” from strangers who don’t understand me or principles, but I’d welcome those. I should have at least broken his legs, torn some skin from his face or kicked him in the dick with my dress shoe.
Eyes closed on the F train uptown and east to 63rd St at 5:15am, I heard the doors open, then the conductor’s voice over the intercom warning the riders to stand clear of the closing doors, and strangely, my hand moved. What made my hand move? Eyes open now, I notice my phone is gone, and I see a young guy, no more than 25, running full speed up the subway stairs. I run with him. Up the stairs, hurdling over the turnstile, then up another flight to the street. Him in all white air force ones, and me in aldo, all leather dress shoes and shorts. We run two blocks down 6th ave. Because the people who raised him are apparently idiots, he ran into what seemed like a parking garage from a distance, but what turned into a one way in/one way out space for a large dumpster. I stood at the entrance, breathing for the life I loved, looking at the top of his head as he stood behind the dumpster.
“i dropped the phone, yo,” he sad panting and breathing almost as hard as me.
“give me my phone, man. i’ll leave you alone, but i need that phone. I don’t have time to find out everyone’s number again and i didn’t sync it,” i told him, trying to make light of the situation like we were on the First 48. He maintained that he dropped it as he walked towards me from behind the dumpster with a $10 bill in his hand extended. I didn’t want the money. i wanted my phone. Between shouting “somebody call the police” and staying within one foot of the asshole, i was thinking about the recent additions to the iphone 4 i knew was in his pocket. He couldn’t have it.
me: why did you take it anyway?
him: i’m having hard times, yo.
me: we all are.
He took off, full speed down 57th St. and behind him was me, the determined guy with Caesar the ape still in my head because of the movies with sheldon first, then niema. He couldnt have this phone. No.
I reached out, grabbed him by the belt, turned him around and held him in the tightest headlock known to man (or to me). I slammed his head over and over on the hood of the red BMW parked in front of the bodega where seven teens stood watching, not sure whether to cheer for me or the loser who kept shouting out “please stop. I have your phone. it’s in my pocket.” One more good slam. My phone fell to the ground from his almost limp hand, and tears fell onto the hood.
I believe he is good at heart, and that part of his body i was ready to spare. Every other part would have been flattened and sent to the people who raised him to have no regard for the property of others, as they gather in a vigil to talk about how the good die young. Fuck that kid and his heart.
*this blog written on my phone.*