Like There's A Guy With A Knife On My Lawn
Monday, May 4, 2009 In the first apartment building that the Palinode and I lived in after we were married, there were many adventures. The building manager was of excellent character, most of the other tenants seemed nice enough, and although the rent was low, the building was gorgeously maintained, but it seemed to be cursed with a series of misfortunes that eventually pushed us to seek our home-making elsewhere.
There was the man who took off everything but his tightie-whities in the building's entrance and tried to molest me in this weirdly romantic way when I set off for work one morning. There was the accidental flooding of our bathroom by an upstairs neighbour which resulted in part of our bathroom ceiling being pulled down, the tub being chipped out of the stone floor, and our inability to bathe at home properly for two weeks. There was the night that I pulled a young woman into our apartment after she'd spent a couple of minutes yelling for her life and banging on doors because the tenant she was visiting had threatened to forcibly restrain and abuse her. Then, there was that rash of fires that had us repeatedly expelled from our apartments in the wee morning hours. The alarms happened so often that we eventually gave up on panic and instead took to deserting the situation altogether and heading out for coffee, where I would inevitably remember that I left our birds to die again and had, instead, saved my favourite sweater.
The one incident that would not leave me, though, happened early on a Sunday morning while I sipped coffee at the kitchen table. It was a cool spring morning, and I liked to look out at the darkness of the wet bark against the greening grass. Two people were chatting outside, one on the lawn and one on the sidewalk, and I had just begun to think that an early morning walk might be nice when I saw that the men were having less of a chat and more of a negotiation, one that was being guided by the point of a large knife in the hand of the man on the sidewalk.
I remember thinking, "Seriously? Now someone's going to get knifed on our front lawn on a Sunday morning? Fuck me."
Then, I opened the window, because I'm a looky-loo who likes to hear what people in potentially deadly situations are talking about. In hindsight, calling the cops might have been a better reaction, but bizarre situations often inspire bizarre responses, and some part of my brain was not willing to accept that this was really happening right in front of me.
"I want the money," came out of Knife Boy's mouth.
"I don't have it. I have a baby on the way," said Lawn Man.
"Go get it," Knife Boy said. "Now." He made a small jabbing motion with the blade.
"I don't do coke anymore. I'm going to be a father," Lawn Man said.
"I don't care. Just get me the money!"
"The mother of my child is sleeping inside. Can't we just forget it?"
"DO I HAVE TO CALL THE COPS?!" I yelled out my window when I saw that pleas for human decency weren't going to have much of an effect on Knife Boy.
Both of their heads swivelled around to figure out which window my voice was came from. I ducked my head away from the screen.
That last piece I contributed to their conversation surprised me as much as it did them, but I guess I felt for the ex-cokehead, baby-daddy-to-be who was trying to go straight even at the end of a pointed knife. Police intervention wouldn't save the kid from getting knifed in the future by the next goon in line, but it sure could land his butt into a tidy jail cell, depending on how things went down, so I gave them the option to break it up. I'm nice like that.
"I'll be back," Knife Boy muttered as he turned and shuffled away down the sidewalk.
With the knife put away, they both turned back into near-children who looked like they should be wearing warmer coats, and it was then that it struck me that I was nearly witness to a stabbing on my front lawn. I went into a mild shock that gathered ice around my bones. I couldn't get warm, and I would never feel safe on my front step again.
I was thinking about this incident this morning after reading Heather's post that mentioned drug dealers in her old neighbourhood, and while I mulled over what made me react the way I did when faced with a potentially life-threatening situation, I realized something about my life: I walk around like there's a guy with a knife on my lawn ALL THE TIME.
The memory of this incident has become an overly detailed metaphor for a fear that I live with every day. There is a wolf at my door, barbarians at my gates, monsters under my bed, and I keep every aspect of myself reigned in like children I'm trying to defend against an angry father. I was bullied in elementary school, I have been bullied at work, there are a couple of incidents in which I was bullied within my own family, and I think I have been unwittingly living under the assumption (yes, that does make an ass out of the ump and tion) that the next stab to my heart is just around every corner. If I do this, go here, feel that, I feel as though I am putting my own well-being into danger, because that's what experience has taught me, or, rather, that is what I have thought my experience was teaching me. I am beginning to think, though, that these lessons from experience have suffered from poor interpretation. I've made the stories too simple. I've distilled out the parts that speak to my own power, strength, and wisdom and allowed the people who caused the hurt to be larger than life. The people who caused me to doubt myself and my abilities and my worthiness are all still standing around on my lawn brandishing knives.
It makes me wonder why I haven't threatened to call the cops yet.
(also published at RealMental.org)
Reader Comments (18)
Whoa. That's all I got because my brain is still mulling, but it does, indeed make sense for a lot of us...
Great post!
P.S.
Reined in, not reigned in :)
http://idioms.thefreedictionary.com/rein+in
Oh my gosh. You have no idea how that hit me. I am a lot like that too. I have this insane need to defend myself and justify myself even when the threat isn't necessarily there and it is because of what I went through in my youth as well. I carry all of that with me every day and just like you, I have a guy with a knife on my lawn.
Thanks for writing this.
This is so very excellent.
Amen! I think that sort of change in thought processes is what helped me take the plunge to volunteer as a CASA. Fight the man! We don't have to take it! That epiphany might change a lot for you - in good ways. Hooray!
I really like your style of writing - oh and ducking out of sight - I would so have done the same thing - but I probably woulda called the cops without notice to either of them...
Just sayin!
EVERYONE has a guy with a knife on the front lawn, and we are ALL afraid, to one extent or another.
What sets you apart is your willingness to stand up for yourself and what's right. People behave the way they do because we ALLOW it. Letting knifeguy know you're watching will make him think twice next time. And lawnguy will take another step toward responsibility, knowing he will not be alone there. You may never see the ultimate results of your actions, but sleep well knowing that you do make a difference.
I didn't see a bullied victim in your writing; I saw a quiet hero! You stood up for all of us by doing what you did. This world needs all the heroes it can get! On behalf of my kids, thank-you.
wow. this is a great post and really made me think.
thanks for sharing that!
It is not an easy task to keep your fears and insecurities from controlling the way you live your life. Most of the time, I feel like I've dialed 9-1 for safety, but I haven't been able to press 1 again.
Dear Heart....whoa. I've read you a good number of years now, and don't know if I've ever commented. Huh. Sorry about that, if indeed I haven't. Because way back when, I was thinking I'd like to get an internet magazine going with The Best of the Best writers as regular contributors, and YOU were and are, my first and always choice.
You continually, consistently blow me away with the content and quality of your writing. (BTW - have you read Stephen King's book On Writing? His best work ever - and YOU are that, trust me.)
Anyway. That Lie is AWESOME. It took me to my knees - the beauty of the writing, the truth of it, the sheer brilliance of pure recall put on "paper".
Thank you. Don't EVER stop what you're doing. Truly. You've got The Gift, and it's glorious.
Thank you for sharing. (And I'll try not to be such a stranger.)
Barbara
I don't know what to say except that I was riveted all the way through this. It makes so much sense.
You are the Powerful and Knowing Schmutzie!
In response to my post today Mrs. C said that my post made me think of your post and so she kindly put in a link to you. OMG, I am so glad she did. I feel like you have been reading my diary. Now that I have found you I will be back. Mut go subscribe to your post. No, first, I must print this post and reread it several times just to be sure I am not dreaming this.
This is gorgeous writing.
Hi Schmutzie. Just wanted to let you know that lisa, Jory and I loved this post so much that it is this week's BlogHer of the Week post!
Rock on!
I witnessed a real stabbing once, at two in the morning at a Waffle House. I had just taken a bite of my steak, when the stabber shoved his knife into the ribs of the stabee. He bled on my food. I was unable to swallow, unable to move. When the cops came, I couldn't point out the perpetrator, even though he sat in the booth right behind me. You do crazy things when crazy things happen.
Wow, really wonderful post. Congrats on BlogHer of the Week, you deserve it for this and I am happy to hand you the crown (it was me last week :-) )and I'll be adding you to my feeds now fo' sho'. Brilliant writing, lady, you go.
What a great story! Sometimes we find strength in the strangest of circumstances, and then look back on the situation with disbelief. Good work - in both the events of the story and the writing!
Susan
Over at "http://raisintoast.typepad.com" REL="nofollow">RaisinToast"
Schutzie, huge congrats on this BlogHer of the Week winning post. I, too, feel at knife point. Frequently. This post really spoke to me. Great writing, as usual! Kudos!
I love this post. I grew up in a volatile environment and it touches home. I've gotten better but it took me until my early thirties to realize that the reason my back hurt all the time was because I was wearing my armor there. All stress, all unconscious tension went right there. Outwardly calm but my back was a mass of knots. Always waiting for the other shoe to drop. You know?