No, Crystal, NO!
Surrounding asbestos once was wood
Intentions perhaps counterpoising those noble and good
A drunk tackles his woman in the street
Conclusion: “Fuck this neighborhood”
Managed not to write anything for the past week, waiting for the hammer to come down with the thugged-out highschool dropouts who jumped me last weekend. Between the ASP baton I picked up and my CRKT M16-03, I figure it will be interesting to see what happens. (There are more interesting things in my arsenal, but I’m not about to wield them while drinking)
So I’m sitting around, it’s 01:20 on a Sunday, I’m bolstering my defenses against rampant paranoia with some liquid courage while I admire the quatrains of Omar Khayyam (and those who would dare attempt his style), and I find it is time to smoke a cigarette.
I am outside for thirty seconds before Crystal and her Guardian/Assailant are walking by.
Guardian/Assailant is pleading with Crystal that she stop and reconsider something. (Every other word out of his mouth is her name, it’s far from endearing, even to the ear of a casual eavesdropper)
Crystal keeps walking.
Guardian/Assailant speeds, preparing to take down Crystal in the middle of the street (while she is crossing it to get away from him). He has earned the title of Assailant - what kind of man tackles a woman in the street?
Crystal, swinging her purse just a moment before, eats pavement. (At this point it’s obvious that they are romantically involved - she would have had something to say about this street-tackle-maneuver if she did not know him)
Guardian/Assailant positions himself over Crystal, effectively preventing her from breaking free. Breaking free would be a Good Idea, given that they’re on the street and only drunks are out driving at this hour and there is a fair likelihood of pedestrian casualty if they remain in the road much longer.
Crystal lies there.
At this point, I am considering extinguishing my cigarette. I have my knife in hand. It really looks as though Crystal needs to get out of the street. Guardian/Assailant’s goals be damned.
A female voice calls out: “DO YOU WANT ME TO CALL THE POLICE?” (My crisis of conscience is averted)
“Well, that’s a refreshing thought… in 30 minutes, they’ll have this all sorted out.” I think to myself (I’ve seen them in action recently - if you order a pizza on one line while calling in an assault on the other, you’ll be eating pizza when the police officer arrives to inquire about what became of that assault you were so excited about not so long ago).
Police do not solve problems. Police act as a dressing for the wound, something to soak up the blood and misery, reposition the event as inevitable, and name the criminals and the victims. They do not protect, they rarely intervene in serious matters - they clean up (and file ever-so-important paperwork).
Regardless, Guardian/Assailant lets Crystal up when he hears mention of police.
Crystal resumes walking away. She is stumbling more quickly, now.
Guardian/Assailant maintains pursuit and volume: If anyone did not already know the name of Guardian/Assailant’s VIP/Victim, it’s “Crystal”, “Crystal”, “Crystal”.
Whatever happened when they made it up the block, I will never know.
I do, however, know that I finished my cigarette…
… just in time to see a beige Jeep speeding back down the block, Guardian/Assailant in pursuit on foot.
“Crystal, no! No, Crystal, NO! DON’T DO THIS!”
He ran after the Jeep as fast as he could, for as long as he could.
Guardian/Assailant has earned the title of Guardian - he’s drunk, he knows it, and he knows Crystal is just as badly inebriated. He had good intentions (at least insofar as preventing her from putting a key in the ignition was a concern).
A concerned citizen would have done more than watch the drama unfold, but I am of the opinion that one cannot save people from themselves…
… and there are far more pressing matters.
Omar Khayyam and his rubaiyat, for example.
