the couch in the living room. It wasn’t something that our mother forced me to do. Nor did Ariel ask me. It was just something I did hoping to make my sister happier.
In three weeks the number of break-ins in our neighborhood was up to seven. As such, every night before I went to bed I double-checked the locks on our front door, which led into the living room, and the back door, which led into the kitchen. I was sleeping on the living room couch when I woke up. Our house was totally dark. It was three o’clock in the morning. I heard someone trying to open the back door. The doorknob jiggled some before going silent.
Then I heard a windowpane smashed. I jumped to my feet off the couch. The living room connected directly into the kitchen. I peeked into the kitchen from the edge of the doorway. Through the broken windowpane a hand reached inside and unlocked the door. I pressed my back against the wall, right inside the doorway before the kitchen. In seconds I heard footsteps coming toward the living room. As the shadowy figure reached the doorway I sprung and tackled him back toward the kitchen table. Driving him into the floor, the air temporarily knocked from him, I grabbed at his arms and quickly deciphered he wasn’t holding a weapon. The two of us grappled with each other on the floor, knocking over chairs, each desperately trying to gain the upper hand. I briefly pulled my right arm free but delivered only two glancing punches to his head. He threw a couple right elbows into my face that busted open my nose and opened a cut under my left eye. Blood flowed freely down and off my face. Eventually I flipped him onto his stomach, me on his back. I punched and elbowed him hard in the back of his neck. I then gripped the hair on the back of his head and slammed his face into the linoleum floor countless times until he was unconscious.
All of this happening in what felt like seconds, only then Ariel appeared at the kitchen doorway from our bedroom. She screamed. In the darkness, only able to see a bloody mess, she was confused and terrified.
I stood and said, “Hey. I’m alright.”
She flipped on the kitchen light and looked at my nose and eye. Softly touching my cheek she said, “Oh my god, your face.”
I heard our mother open her bedroom door.
“Go stop Mom,” I said. “While I get him out of here.”
Ariel held off our mother.
I reached down to the man on our floor and checked his pockets. He had no wallet. No identification. He had six dollars in bills and change, which I took. I grabbed his feet and dragged him out of the kitchen, through the living room, and out the front door. I dragged him through our lawn and down the sidewalk a ways. Only streetlamps illuminating the night, I dragged him out into the middle of the street where I left him. I stared at him a moment before walking back home. He was much older than me, probably nearing sixty. His clothes were dirty. His face leathery and worn, he smelled of cheap alcohol. I stiffly kicked him in the ribs a few times. Back at home I comforted my mother and sister, recounting what had happened. Ariel helped me clean myself up. She also mopped the blood from the kitchen floor. I washed my face and looked at my bruised nose and applied some Neosporin and a Band-Aid to the nasty cut below my eye. I returned to the living room couch and unsuccessfully tried to fall back asleep.
Chapter Seven
Angela and I spend a morning wandering the French Quarter. We visit a used book store and then a family-owned music store called Peaches Records. At lunchtime we eat deep-fried oyster Po' boy sandwiches slathered
In three weeks the number of break-ins in our neighborhood was up to seven. As such, every night before I went to bed I double-checked the locks on our front door, which led into the living room, and the back door, which led into the kitchen. I was sleeping on the living room couch when I woke up. Our house was totally dark. It was three o’clock in the morning. I heard someone trying to open the back door. The doorknob jiggled some before going silent.
Then I heard a windowpane smashed. I jumped to my feet off the couch. The living room connected directly into the kitchen. I peeked into the kitchen from the edge of the doorway. Through the broken windowpane a hand reached inside and unlocked the door. I pressed my back against the wall, right inside the doorway before the kitchen. In seconds I heard footsteps coming toward the living room. As the shadowy figure reached the doorway I sprung and tackled him back toward the kitchen table. Driving him into the floor, the air temporarily knocked from him, I grabbed at his arms and quickly deciphered he wasn’t holding a weapon. The two of us grappled with each other on the floor, knocking over chairs, each desperately trying to gain the upper hand. I briefly pulled my right arm free but delivered only two glancing punches to his head. He threw a couple right elbows into my face that busted open my nose and opened a cut under my left eye. Blood flowed freely down and off my face. Eventually I flipped him onto his stomach, me on his back. I punched and elbowed him hard in the back of his neck. I then gripped the hair on the back of his head and slammed his face into the linoleum floor countless times until he was unconscious.
All of this happening in what felt like seconds, only then Ariel appeared at the kitchen doorway from our bedroom. She screamed. In the darkness, only able to see a bloody mess, she was confused and terrified.
I stood and said, “Hey. I’m alright.”
She flipped on the kitchen light and looked at my nose and eye. Softly touching my cheek she said, “Oh my god, your face.”
I heard our mother open her bedroom door.
“Go stop Mom,” I said. “While I get him out of here.”
Ariel held off our mother.
I reached down to the man on our floor and checked his pockets. He had no wallet. No identification. He had six dollars in bills and change, which I took. I grabbed his feet and dragged him out of the kitchen, through the living room, and out the front door. I dragged him through our lawn and down the sidewalk a ways. Only streetlamps illuminating the night, I dragged him out into the middle of the street where I left him. I stared at him a moment before walking back home. He was much older than me, probably nearing sixty. His clothes were dirty. His face leathery and worn, he smelled of cheap alcohol. I stiffly kicked him in the ribs a few times. Back at home I comforted my mother and sister, recounting what had happened. Ariel helped me clean myself up. She also mopped the blood from the kitchen floor. I washed my face and looked at my bruised nose and applied some Neosporin and a Band-Aid to the nasty cut below my eye. I returned to the living room couch and unsuccessfully tried to fall back asleep.
Chapter Seven
Angela and I spend a morning wandering the French Quarter. We visit a used book store and then a family-owned music store called Peaches Records. At lunchtime we eat deep-fried oyster Po' boy sandwiches slathered
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