If I had any amount of poetry left in me, I would not waste it on the works of such foul and putrid creatures. But I will tell you what has happened as of now.
After all, it's all about to go down.
Last night, sometime in the early hours, some idiots decided to jump on the roof of my brand new car, leaving the roof bashed in. They didn't just hit my car, but several others around mine; from what I hear, 14 cars were vandalized last night in my apartment complex and the one across from it. One girl's was hit so badly (obviously with another car), that it is no longer drivable.
When I discovered the damages to my car this morning, there were several other people in the parking lot, also examining the remains of their vehicles. The girl whose car was totaled has a boyfriend, and he was angry. At an intimidating stature of about 6 foot 3 in, donned with a rag on his head and ridiculously large fake diamond earrings, his prescence quickly killed my own anger. He walked up to me. "Where you live?" he told me more than asked. I pointed to my apartment. "What side?" "Left," I said. He walked off to his friends. I was still in the parking lot when they came back. I heard them yelling about their cars and asked them what they knew. Once they saw my car had been bashed in too, they told me in between curses what they knew about it. The girl's boyfriend was only getting madder, and the other guys didn't look to happy. He was perfectly willing to spend the 48 hours locked up to get at the people who did this, he said.
Apparently, about 4:30 this morning, someone saw the idiots rampage our cars and called the police. The police came and ran the licenses of the damaged cars, and knocked on the doors of their owners. My car, however, isn't licensed in Austin, so they didn't know where I lived: no knock. A crowd formed in the parking lot. The girl whose car was totaled asked some guys standing around if they knew anything. "Yeah, we know who did it; come back in a half hour and we'll tell you." Then they disappeared into the apartment directly across from mine and never came out.
So when I arrived about 10 this morning, all of the girl's friends were out in the parking lot, shouting threats at the apartment across from mine. "Can you believe, those pieces of trash; they're white, aren't they?" The boyfriend said to his friends, glancing a 'no-offense' at me. Every now and then you could see the blinds move, but no one would come out. Whether they did it themselves or not, now they are guilty (and incredibly stupid). "Man, white people aren't supposed to do this kind of stuff."
I'm pretty sure the people who live there are black, but it won't matter. That won't save them. I was suspicious two months ago, when Bon's car was broken into, that the criminals live here. They broke the walk-in gate at the entrance of the complex about two weeks ago, and had it propped up by the stairs of our building; this is among several strange occurrences that seem to happen only to our building. After this, I am convinced of it. I talked to the girl for a while. The boyfriend and his friends are planning their revenge for tonight. I don't care what happens to those in that apartment; I care for those who might get hit with the "stray bullets" of those who couldn't care less.
Three cops came when I called to make the report. The girl and I told them everything that we know, as her friends conveniently left. "Oh, by the way, might you know anything about this case?" I asked one of the officers, pulling out the number for Bon's assault case. He took it back to his car and looked it up: nothing. The police had shown up minutes afterwards, known the guy's license number, a pretty detailed description of him, and that they guy was driving--drunk and angry--a screeching and smoking car (after hitting the ATM) and yet...nothing. Why would I think this would be any different?
I wouldn't. There's no way that they are going to stop this. I called them for insurance purposes. They know about the planned revenge of these gentlemen, and it won't matter. But it's ok. I mean, the cops will have several tries at this. This sort of meaningless vandalism is far from over.
Meanwhile, the apartment across from mine is still locked up. The air is thick with humidity. All is quiet, except for a low base beat in the parking lot: thump, thump, thump. Three hours to dark.
"Everyone gets what they want. They do not always like it." --CS Lewis
Once a month Bon and I go out somewhere to eat. Today was that day. Bon got off of work at 8:30, got home around 9, and so we were ready to go out by 9:30 or so. We had intended to go to a nice little mexican restaurant on the north side of town, but it was closed by the time we got there. So we turned around and went to Olive Garden. Also closed. Across the street from Olive Garden sits an Austin treasure, a place that serves fried twinkies and fried macaroni and cheese. Plucker's. It seemed to be the only place open, so we sighed and settled for it. Several times it had been recommended to me, but the food, service and atmosphere were, well, less than satisfactory. Not my kind of place. Bon's heart was hurting, so we ate quickly, paid the bill and left. As we were walking to the car, a hispanic fellow, drunk out of his mind, started yelling at me. It didn't dawn on me that he was talking to me. I had never seen him before, so he had no reason to be yelling at me. I kept on walking as he shouted profanities, and only realized that they were directed at me when he began walking towards our car. Because Bon wasn't feeling well, I was going to drive. Bon told me to not look and to just drive, and I did. They got in their car and started following us. Bon saw them as they did a U turn in the middle of the road and sped towards us. They passed us and hit their brakes, swerving into our lane, windows rolled down, shouting at us. I hit the brakes, and pulled into a Blockbuster thinking they might not follow, or if they did, there might be witnesses. There's never enough time to think.
They came in another exit to the parking lot and came towards us head on. I tried going another direction but they blocked me. I slammed on the brakes and swerved before they could hit the car. A big Mexican guy got out and pulled Bon out of the car. Bon was already calling the police. Bon told him he was calling them, and the guy threw Bon into the car. I screamed. I didn't know what to do. I frantically searched for my phone as the guy started punching Bon, but I hadn't brought it. I just wanted to stop him, to protect Bon, and there was nothing I could do. I sat there frozen, terrified, trying to think if I could hit the guy with the car, or find a pocket knife, or run for help or anything. He kept hitting him. Bon rolled off of the car onto the pavement. I don't know why, but the guy stopping punching Bon and jumped back in his car real quick. He drove into the ATM there and tore up the side of his car and smoke was coming out of it. He laid rubber and was gone.
Several Blockbuster employees were watching from the curb, silent. I parked the car and ran to Bon. The police came a few minutes later. One of the employees stayed to be a witness. Bon was shaking with adrenaline and fear and chills. I started to shake too. Neither of the cops seemed too surprised. Or even interested, for that matter. I gave the best description I could. One of the cops looked at Bon and told him to put ice on it, sighed and got back in his car. I told them they had to go after him, to put an alert out for this guy. He was drunk and dangerous. He had no reason to attack us. Was it because we tried to walk away? I'm guessing so. Was it because we weren't poor-looking (although we are)? Probably. Because we were white? Definitely in there somewhere. That's why I am quitting Latin American Studies: I've had enough of that hatred directed towards me. I feel like I have been assaulted by Satan himself, and the man never laid a finger on me.
They said they would "do the best" that they could do. Write a report, see if anyone gets pulled in that fits the description. I hope they do. They said they would let us know.
Bon said the guy threw punches like a girl, that he had gotten harder spankings as a kid. Of course, his face is swollen up pretty badly and it's already bruised. He laughed at that the guy banged up his car. He's braver than I am. I wish I had done something. I feel like a coward because I just sat there, helpless. I don't understand that kind of anger and hatred, the vicious kind that can be tossed out at random innocent people. I don't want to understand it. I certainly don't understand the kind of person who has to get drunk to feel brave. Those are the true cowards.
So say a prayer for this man. Pray that he is stopped before he hurts someone else worse or kills someone driving drunk. Pray for the girl that was in the car, laughing at us as her boyfriend hit Bon. And pray for us, that we might survive this horrible place and still have the courage to help people. Because right now, I don't think I have it in me.
Let other people be themselves. Other people are just that: other people. You can have a great, close friendship with someone, but never know everything about them or be able to control them. We each only live one life. You have to accept people the way they are, and love them for themselves, even if you don't agree with every attribute.
Be in the moment. Whenever you do something, just do it. Don't multitask, don't think about something else. Feel everything, smell everything, love everything. When you walk, feel the ground and the muscles in your legs; smell the air, breathe deeply. When you talk to someone, really listen. You're more productive, less stressed, and you enjoy things you could have missed.
Just do it. Sound familiar? What I mean is this: just do it. Don't do it with ten or twenty or two motives attached. Love openly and freely. Give just to give. Walk just to walk, not to go anywhere.
Tranquila. Motto of Paraguay. Just relax. If it can't wait another five minutes, it's probably not worth it.
We aren't rational creatures. We don't choose the easiest path, we don't always choose what we want the most. We do what we believe in, whatever that may be, whatever it may call for. And those beliefs...they give us meaning, significance. Whether it turns out they are true or not, you've gotta believe in something, "rational" or not.
It's just ink. Virtual ink, mental ink. You can't reduce life into mathematical statistics or a quote or two. Life is too deep and vast to be contained. It takes all the beauty and meaning out of life. Beauty can't be explained. Love has no reason. Without feeling, everything is senseless. You have to live some things to understand them. No amount of reading or science can replace doing it.
Walk. I love to walk in the wilderness at night. If you can't, pretend. Touch the stars. Give up the fear you have of your helplessness--unless, of course, you can see at night--and walk. That bear you keep imagining probably won't attack you. Give up the distance with the world and join it.
Crumbs are good. When we're presented with something, sometimes it doesn't look so great. We turn down things because they didn't offer exactly what we wanted. And, well, if you don't take the crumb, you're left with nothing. You have to give things a chance. And who knows, perhaps the crumb could be the sweetest part of the whole cake.
Change. You can't change the world to fit your ideals: it was here first. One person can't change the institutions of the world or those of their hometown. The only power we really have is to change ourselves, to decide whether we are good or evil.
You don't need to conquer the world in a day. Take small steps. When trying to accomplish something, like establishing a good habit, realize what you can and cannot do. Conquer the world so slowly that the "world" doesn't notice. Don't just drop sweets altogether, leave out one Hershey's Kiss a day. Increase the good slowly. You'll be surprised at how quick you improve.
Dream. Hope is nothing if you don't trust it and dream. It doesn't matter so much as to whether it ever happens, as it does if it is simply dreamed. “For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.” - Vincent van Gogh
It's all perfect. Who says what's perfect and what's not? Maybe what we think is bad was supposed to be that way. Maybe you were supposed to have that funny looking twitch you don't know about. Maybe what we think is ugly is really beautiful.
Peace. If it's possible, so far as it depends on you, be at peace with all men. Do what you can, and you won't be accountable.
Be speechless. The less you talk the smarter you seem. At least, it's worked for me.
Be. Be fiery, be passionate, be completely. Have a fire and don't let anyone or anything dim it. Just don't burn yourself.
Mess up. You're gonna do it. You're supposed to. Otherwise we wouldn't be able to. Pick yourself up and keep going, but leave the guilt behind you. Oh, and don't tell it where you're going either. It'll follow you.
Here's to the long afternoons, to the long walks under the stars, to the long cries and the long conversations. These things have helped define me.
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter’d visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp’d on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock’d them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains: round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
