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No Insignificant Acts. By E. D. |
It never ceases to amaze me how an act as simple as answering
the phone can act as the catalyst for a chain of events that
would change someone's life forever. We wander through life
believing that we are immune to the effects of fate, not realizing
that we are indeed part of a grand scheme, that everything we
do has a cause and an effect. We are lulled into a false sense
of security. Occasionally, we do something that blasts through
the mundane security of our lives and thrusts us into the center
of a maelstrom, changing us forever.
Something like answering the phone.
It was 1984. I was 22 years old. I had just been discharged
from the Army ten months before and was working as a delivery
driver for a local pizzeria.
Like the majority of people who serve in the military, I had
never heard a shot fired in anger, or served in a combat zone.
Being filled with the zeal that most young men possess, combined
with three years spent as a US Army Paratrooper, I was frustrated.
I knew that I didn't want to re-enlist in the military, but
I had no clear-cut plan for the future. In fact, I had no clear-cut
plan for the next day.
I suppose that if I had to define the philosophy that I subscribed
to at the time, I would have to classify it as a combination
of chivalry and the code of the old west. I would not tolerate
the abuse of women and I would remain loyal to the end to anyone
who called me friend. Not only was I ready to go to the limit
for my friends, I was eager for the chance to do so.
Unfortunately, sometimes you get exactly what you wish for.
I received a phone call from a friend who stated that she had
been babysitting when her ex-boyfriend showed up and, in front
of the children, had roughed her up. Though he had left, she
didn't want to be alone and asked if I could stay with her.
She assured me that the police were aware of the situation and
that she didn't expect me to confront the individual; she just
wanted the comfort of another person around. I had no romantic
interest; indeed, I was seeing someone else. She had no desire
to see anyone at all after breaking off with this man.
I told her that I would be there within the hour.
I had delivered pizza in some of the less savory neighborhoods
in the city of Detroit. Even though we were instructed to carry
no more than $20 on our person, delivery drivers from our store
and others were robbed with frightening regularity. It was for
this reason that I kept a pistol in my car. Ever mindful of
the law, I kept it unloaded and in the trunk. I only carried
it when a customer required change for an unusually large denomination
or requested that I go to the back door. At that time, it never
occurred to me to refuse a to go to a delivery that was considered
"dangerous."
I had acquired the pistol in one of the numerous sporting goods
stores adjacent to my Army base in Georgia. I bought it because
it was a commercial version of the M1911A1 pistol that was standard
military issue at the time.
Because my friend said that this individual was violent, I decided
to load the pistol and take it with me to the house. I certainly
was not going to 'hunt him down' but as I had no idea as to
just how violent he might become, I considered the gun to be
prudent.
When I arrived at the house, I didn't mention that I was armed.
A quick survey of her injuries, while not as bad as I had envisioned,
was still quite shocking. The man had apparently grabbed her
by the hair and smacked her, then grabbed her by the arm and
shook her, all the while shouting obscenities at her.
I explained that while I was not going to confront this person,
I would not allow her to be further injured by him either. She
thanked me for showing up and informed me that the children
had been taken to a hockey game by their grandparents and would
probably return in a couple of hours. Since their parents wouldn't
be home until late, she insisted that she had to be there when
the children returned. I saw nothing wrong with this and agreed
to stay until I was sure she was safe. I asked for a pop and
she went to get it.
It was while she was in the kitchen that I heard someone out
on the front porch. I didn't have to look to know who it was.
She made a quick call to 911, and we waited while he stomped
around on the porch, yelling threats and obscenities. She told
him that the police were on the way. He beat a hasty retreat.
The police arrived after he left. A quick search of the area
revealed nothing and they, in turn, left.
The phone rang.
He informed her that he was now at her house and was
talking on her phone. She lived with an elderly grandfather
whom the ex-boyfriend had threatened to hurt. She agreed to
talk with him if he left the house immediately.
The grandfather got on the line to ask her what was going on.
During their conversation, the ex-boyfriend appeared on the
porch and demanded that she come out. She told her grandfather
goodnight and made another call to the police. She refused to
go on the porch. He was long gone by the time the police arrived.
By this time I was in conflict. I certainly didn't want to get
in the middle of their problems, but I also wasn't going to
abandon her to this person's rage.
I decided that as long as he remained outside, and she remained
inside, I would do nothing. If she stepped out the door to talk
to him, thus placing herself in harm's way, she was on her own.
If he broke into the house, I would deal with that. Otherwise,
this would be nothing more than a visit between friends.
We worked out a plan where, if he returned or called that she
would agree to meet him the following day, to talk out this
situation. She felt that this would be a good compromise. As
if on cue, the phone rang again. He stated that he had no intention
of harming her; he just wanted to talk. She asked him to meet
her at a local restaurant the next morning.
Sitting several feet away, I could hear him shouting obscenities
as if he were in the room with us. He stated that he knew that
she had someone with her and that she was a whore. I took the
phone from her and I told him that I was only there visiting
and that this was unnecessary. He began verbally abusing me
and I gave the phone back to her, not trusting myself to reply
in a civilized manner.
She talked with him for a few minutes, crying all the while,
and told him that she wanted nothing further to do with him.
She hung up. Almost immediately the phone rang again. This time
when she picked it up, she didn't even get it to her ear, I
heard him yelling," That's it you $%#@! I've got a gun,
and me and my friends are coming over there to kill you and
that *&%$#* you're with!"
I would like to say that the idea leaving never entered my head,
but I would be lying. While I knew that I could no more leave
her there than I could fly, I suddenly began to doubt the wisdom
of having answered the phone at all. My internal conflict was
cut short by the sound of breaking glass.
What happened in the following seconds has done more to change
me than anything that has happened before or since. I turned
around to see the ex-boyfriend coming through the now broken
front window. His progress was impeded since it was leaded glass
and he had to bend the lead trim back to enter. I grabbed the
woman and shoved her towards the bedroom, tossing the phone
after her and yelling for her to call 911. The pistol seemed
to leap into my hand as I ducked behind a wall, ever aware that
he had a gun.
Whatever lessons I had absorbed in the Army now came to the
fore. Realizing that if he got all the way into the house, it
could get messy, I assumed the "ready position" both
arms extended, muzzle pointed down and in front, finger off
the trigger, and went forward towards him. I yelled for him
to get back as I pointed the pistol at the center of his mass.
Upon seeing me, he reached under his jacket. Not wanting to
give him the chance to use his gun, I fired twice, hitting him
in the chest. He folded up and fell out the window. By this
time, I was going on pure adrenaline. He had stated that he
had friends coming with him and I went out the front door to
meet them before they could get inside.
I ran down the steps, checking every direction for his friends.
Probably only seconds passed, but it seemed much longer as the
realization hit me that there was no one there. I went back
up on the porch and looked at him lying inert. It was hard to
see him as a person. To me he had only been a threat that needed
to be eliminated. I went to him and, while holding the pistol
, I searched him to relieve him of his weapons. Various instructors
had told me that dead enemies often come back to life while
you're not looking and kill you.
I searched and searched and searched, becoming more and more
frantic with each passing second because I COULDN"T FIND
HIS WEAPON. It had to be there. He had reached for it. That
was why I shot him. When I realized that he had been unarmed,
I remember being filled with anger at him.
I walked back into the house, suddenly exhausted. I had killed
a man.
The hours afterwards are a blur. I was taken downtown; allowed
to make a phone call and put in a six by eight-foot cell that
reeked of urine. During the course of the next several hours,
I talked to my lawyer twice, the police once, and myself all
night long.
At one point I attempted to pray to God, but I stopped mid sentence.
I hadn't prayed for years. I certainly hadn't led a virtuous
life plus I had just killed a man. How could I ask God to help
me now? I had never felt so alone and lost in my entire life.
All I can say is that God must have been listening anyway. Sixteen
hours later, I was free as far as the court was concerned. Justifiable
Homicide it was labeled. How could they know that I couldn't
justify it to myself?
My friends and family were all very supportive in the following
days. Still, I felt that I was unclean. I felt that wherever
I went, people would know that I was a murderer. To make matters
worse, I later found out that, on the night of the shooting,
my friend was already pregnant with his child.Page
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