The headline to this article is fake. I made it up because of something that happened to me last week.
It shook me up quite a bit. The more I thought about it the worse it made me feel.
I live in a private subdivision. We have our own bar and grille, convenience store, garbage facility, pavilion, and lake. You see the same people every day. We try to be kind to each other and respect each other's privacy.
I've lived here for more than 20 years. I have seen a lot of people come and go but the majority of people that move here stick around. We have all sorts of people that live in here with varying jobs and backgrounds.
I think I am the only true crime author, but we have cops, social workers, nurses, military folks, professionals in hospitality, food, customer service, and truck drivers. We also have our fair share of gas thieves, drug addicts, and town drunks.
We stick together for the most part but we get a lot of people from other areas who come to visit our businesses. Especially the convenience store and bar and grille. In the summer people come to use our lake and beach. The large majority know they are visitors and act accordingly. Sometimes you get assholes who act like they can behave however they choose.
One day last week, my friend down the road and I went to the bar and grille. It was right after my last TV appearance on Killer Affair. One such visiting gentleman who I have seen many times congratulated me on the appearance and told me how he'd bragged of our acquaintance to his daughter who loves true crime tv. He asked for a photo and I was happy to oblige.
We stepped onto the patio and he snapped a few photos. He asked for a selfie and just before he snapped the pic I turned to kiss his cheek. He guessed what I had in mind and quickly turned his head to kiss me full on the lips. Shady as that is, he took it a step further.
He'd surprised me. I tried to pull away but he had a firm grip on my waist. He held tight. Pressing his lips into my face. He kept trying to push his tongue into my mouth. His beer breath and Old Spice prevalent.
I was horrified. As a few customers approached the door I struggled harder and he let me loose with a sheepish grin. He turned and walked back in without another word.
I was so shook. I stood on the patio a few minutes alone.
I felt powerless. Ashamed. Embarrassed. Like a fool.
That's what you get for thinking youre a big shot, I told myself. I felt snookered. Fooled.
I went back in to my friend and played it off like nothing happened. I laughed. I joked. I watched that man look happily at the photos he'd taken and I had a powerful urge to slap the phone out of his hand. To wrap my hands around his throat. To stab him, or shoot him, or beat him with my own fists.
But I did nothing. I went home and cried. I threw some shit around. I talked to my cousin about it. That is something you will never have to deal with as a man, I told him. And he agreed.
I guess my point is that I could have easily lost my shit on that old man. I felt it. There was a black, slimy ball of putrid hate in the pit of my stomach and had I had the chance at the right moment, I may have killed him.
It would have been my actions. And my will that took his life, but whose fault would it have been? When are we going to start acknowledging as a nation that enough inequality is going to spawn murder?
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