Walking Home

 One of my flashbulb memories that really sticks is one of random violence - experienced by me one night while I was walking home from Little Caesar’s on Brighton Ave. 

I worked there for a little over 3 years, having started that job during my sophomore year at Westbrook high, and wrapping up a month or so before graduating in June of 1994.

This was my second pizza gig - my first job was at Pizza by Joe Angelone out at the mall when I was 14 - I had to get a work permit signed by the superintendent in order to effectively pay taxes as regulated by our government, and I also recall the chore it was tracking down open hours for his office that summer; I knocked on that door no fewer than three times before I found the office staffed. 

Persistence? Idk. I needed money and this was the effective avenue. Plus my mom was tired of my lurking about and looking for trouble to get into with Josh Taber or worse, Mike Valliere - both guys I still love to this day for the number of times we randomly almost died together. 

I digress. 

One night I remember not being able to line up a ride home. 

My mom was a drinker and pushed the accountability card for transporting my ass to work so I wasn’t surprised that I had to walk home at 10pm or so - but it was autumn as I remember the chill, and the large Dunkin’s ice water that slammed into my chest while I was walking home both frightened me in the immediate and invoked a simmering rage that I can still see like embers in ash if I look hard enough. 

I was just outside of the parking lot and someone in approaching traffic (they had to have had it cocked and fucking ready - there weren’t 3 traffic lights in the two block area like there are now and it was oncoming - nailed me like a fucking brick to the chest. 

The surprise and shock are still almost palpable nearly 30 years later.

I was thinking about how this random act of violence shaped the way I see strangers and my subsequent worldview today and wanted to get it to paper. 

Thanks for reading