Thank you for Today

I got mugged last night on the street, on my way home by two teenage boys with barely any fur on their faces. We have guns they said. Empty your pockets they said. Wheres the cash they said. I don’t carry any… One of them slugs me, knocks off my glasses, takes my book bag and empties it out on the street. Nothing?—they said. I don’t have anything….they interrupted well don’t flinch. And I thought to myself if this was that part in the movie where the victim gets shot…I might not survive this.

I was on a crowded bus once, sat in the seat right behind the driver pressed in between a wall and woman. I forget whether or not I had something particular on my mind or if I was just fascinated with my reflection in the window opposite my seat…but what I recall is seeing myself. The bus crashes…well almost crashes… slams on its breaks and cries to a stop. And as everyone’s being thrown forward—I remember someone losing a purse, I remember change spilling, keys falling, children crying, women screaming, gents gasping for god…I must’ve just sat there unblemished in the window, eyes still fixed on my image in the window and rocked with the pull of the bus as not even concerned with what was living around me.

You hear of such things like this happening to other people and you sympathize, and you empathize and you try your best to envision how or what your reaction might be had it been you—but it isn’t you and it wasn’t you and if it were to ever be you you’d assume yourself to be as much of a wreck as they insist they are. It didn’t even occur to me what was actually happening while it was happening. The only thing I could understand was the floor of the earth…her ground…her soot and concrete. I might’ve even been looking for my reflection again, somewhere in the glass shards glistened across the sidewalk. I’m sure it would have served as the one thing my eyes would have fondly made out without glasses, my reflection.

The other one took a swing, I moved, he missed. Don’t flinch!—he said. My older brother Curtis, before he died, journaled about death. The night he wrote the entry he spoke about how he almost lost his life in the same manner his mother lost hers. He spoke of the incident, which I can vaguely remember, and how fortunate he felt to have surpassed and survived. The irony of what fell is that death caught him in a clap of surprise the same way he felt honored that it hadn’t. And so now that I find myself journeying to journal about that same honor and relief as if I’d been cleared from anyone else’s attack or from ever having my life cradled to the precipice of it all ever ending on a whim… if last night was truly the end, I thought…I’m proud that I was calm enough to accept it. I saw the earth for what she is, in that moment…dirt, and gravel and glass and I don’t think had they pull the trigger, or had there been a trigger to pull, I’d be missing anything. I’m not sad because it happened rather I’m more concerned with this feeling of nothingness swelling inside me because it did happen.

I’m thinking I’ve loved all I can, been loved all I can, seen all the love that I possibly can, and so there’s nothing I’d lose by leaving. Please take my money if that’s all your asking and I would’ve lassoed the stars and boxed the entire whole of the galaxy if that’s all they were asking; but it seems like such a struggle for our generation stay alive. I remember when 20 seemed virtually impossible. After high school it was a race to see who’d survive. Norman didn’t make it…Crystal didn’t make it…Chris didn’t make it. Johnny was out of state at school when he was robbed, beaten and shot for a pair of shoes at 19—And though I’ve been blessed to see 22, it feels almost impractical, at the least of all absurd, of me to anticipate seeing thirty. The luxury of watching my children grow and hair gray is a privilege I’m not privy to. And to say that I’m grateful that what potentially could’ve resulted in my death last night didn’t would somehow be neglecting that I will soon someday die. They say dodging one bullet is a miracle and dodging two, impossible. I recognized, in that moment, searching, in the fragmented glass shavings, for my reflection, that this could very well be my end, and I’m okay.

Whatever spooked them into running away—they did. They took off down the street and left me standing to collect my belongings. My glasses were gone and my phone was gone. A witness, through a window, called out to me and called police. She invited me inside where I phoned Jerome, who came rushing to my service…

I don’t know if I prayed, God… and a part of me feels like this was God’s way of reminding me life is fleeting, be careful how you live. And it was in realizing that, and looking into Jerome’s face did I appreciate that I’m not just living for me—my life doesn’t just affect me! How totally selfish can I get!?!—which brings me to my knees in the humblest of poses for apology because if I didn’t then, Jehovah, or hadn’t since then…with all my heart decked across the table and arms sprayed to the heavens…thank you. Thank you for today.