I’ve Got Your Back

Yesterday, after posting my YouTube video, I had a headache, the kind, although not a migraine, that will have anyone close to tears.

I had to borrow money.

I went to the store and got a 24 caplet bottle of acetaminophen and a small box of Alka-Seltzer. The combination works for me. I bought a generic 16 ounce bottle of water, went outside and sat on my favorite bench.

With the Alka-Seltzer fizzing at the bottom of the bottle, I took a swig and swallowed the caplets. Relief was surely minutes away.

My friend Travis came into the area and asked for a smoke. I gave him one but he wandered off out of my sight, around a corner, but not far.

I drained the bottle, and shit, here came this tall Frankenstein’s monster of an old geezer, dressed even more disgustingly than I would ever be seen. Stains on the shirt and all. I heard him shouting, “Why don’t you find somewhere else to hang out?” And he repeated it. Then, “Nobody wants you here. They all know you. They all hate you. You’re a drug addict! You’re a drug addict!”

With the seconds it took for him to run his hateful mouth, my anger had risen to a point where letting it go any further would have been extremely imprudent; I know that anger from my past, and it’s dangerous.

I got to my feet and went around the corner, and the Frankenstein geezer shut up immediately. He didn’t need to see my eyes (my prescription glasses are sunglasses). Even an ate-up old fucker like him can sense danger.

And he had fucking pissed me off to where I was ready to take off my hat and glasses. No one has ever made me do that. If they had, I’d have hurt them really bad. Hospital bad.

This shithead was MAGA, there’s no way he could be anything else. His last words to Travis, repeated like everything else, “Get a job!” was still working its way up my temper. I didn’t want to attack. You never attack, that’s for the bad guys. Me, I defend.

In the back of my mind: old men hit harder than the young. One punch will make you a believer. And you’ll have plenty of time to memorize the fact while being fed through a tube.

Also, he outreached me. By way too much. I dared not engage. Combat would have ended in his death. I never want to kill, or even harm in any way. That’s the last resort of a lesser man than I. I’m supposed to be peaceful, and to keep my temper.

But I know that I have limits. In defense of another, yes. I can kill. Old men may fight like schoolyard kids, but I can’t. I’ll maim or kill. It’s that kind of world, and it always has been. Take another man lightly, and you’ve put yourself in serious danger.

Using effort that I was impressed with, I calmly said, “Travis, come over here with me, get away from him.”

He sat on the bench, smoking and trembling. I told him, “Don’t stand there and take abuse from a dickhead like that. You need to learn to walk away. If I’m around, I promise I’ll have your back. Let me stop whatever’s going on. You have every right to be here. That’s why there’s benches, tables and chairs.”

Travis said, defeated, “He’s right. I’m a grown-ass man. I should get a job.”

I don’t think he will get one. He’s been damaged, and I don’t know how.

And that old geezer judged. Judged him exactly as I used to.

He’s not a drug addict. He’s not an alcoholic. I doubt that he even has an ID card. I hope so.

I’m not judging on sight ever again unless there are visible signs of danger. Even then, all I would do is avoid such a person. I have nothing to say. I’m not a bully. The reason I don’t fight at the drop of a name is because I know how it would end. Names? A shove? Those are not reasons for violence.

But when it comes to defending a friend, an innocent, a victim?

I’ve got your back.