History of His Future

Despite my attempts to educate him about the dangers of me coming over his house for presumed sexual escapades, I never thought he was really a threat. I typed out words about women being raped and murdered, battered and broken by seemingly sweet men without thinking seriously that he could be one of these men. I thought wrong.

My insecurities about rejection, the questioning of my own hyperactive internal dialogue about whether or not we could have a friendship or something more, instantly quieted. A simple Internet search validated my primordial alarm bells. He had a criminal record for attacking a woman while under the influence of drugs. My neighbor, the guy with springy corkscrew curls and a flashy grin had hurt at least one woman.

As I reread the brief article, some nauseating combination of validation and fear cascades along my spine. This duo ignites a fury, anger that simmers along the pinpoints of my fingertips. How dare he be this man? Before my mind can completely obliterate his credibility as a human to shreds, I am transported to the scene of his crime, his arrest over a decade ago.

The intentionally uncomfortable plastic of the back of the police car greets my back. In the hollow of this midnight, the trio of flashing red white and blue police lights swivels across his face. Younger, but still him. The muscles of his arms are taught behind him, constrained by steel handcuffs that reflect the pale moon leaking through the window. He does not know I am here. He is 23 years old, secured in a police car after assaulting his girlfriend’s sister while high or intoxicated, or both.

The cloak of invisibility, the timelessness that allows me to privately observe this scene guarantees me safety. The ragged intake of oxygen into his lungs paired with the swooshing of his gaze up and down, side to side, assures me he is unaware of my presence. As much as I might want to presume him a baby monster, I resist. This is not what I came here for. Instead, I do the unthinkable; tentatively, I reach my fingers out to cup his knee, connecting time and space, physics and matter to remember that he is still human.

I consider unlimited possibilities for redemption for his future. I elongate and compress possibilities to enrich his life, to reduce this terrible assault into a one time mistake. I imbue these moments alone, together with him with the beckoning of success, recovery for his future. As if capable of transferring golden particles like glittering promises through the touch of my hand, I squeeze the denim of his jeans tighter.

As a phalanx of police and emergency medical professionals stream by, I do not look at her. Should the mere sight of her arm, streaming hair or shattered composure greet my senses, the spell of compassion I am entertaining will be broken. She will win; her pain, her innocence, her tragedy will win and he will become the monster.

I refocus on the braiding of if not a golden halo around his frizzing curls, a circle of compassion and hope. I intricately affix this circle, like a life preserver, like a glowing harbinger of good to him in my mind. I wonder about the lineage of experiences that brought him to this point. I consider what story lurks in his history and if anybody has ever wanted to know it.

I lean in, nearly brushing my invisible nose to his earlobe. In a voice he cannot hear, I whisper “you can do this.”

As I exit the police car, I catch a glimpse of his nearly imperceptible nod. Should this be a response to my gentle encouragement, I’ll never know. The ginormous, opulent homes tower into the sky. Despite their assumed perfection and impeccable glamour, it seems as though they too reach to the stars for reassurances and promises. The rush of the ocean accompanies me as I travel by foot in this neighborhood.

One step at a time, I navigate away from this night, wondering if the stars will pave the way for him to come home to himself. Or perhaps, he will harness his own inner glow and pave the way himself.

Should time expand and collapse, landing him at my doorstep in another decade, may the sunshine in his eyes in the words on his lips belong truly to him.