AKA They Can't Catch Nightwing.
From a Facebook note. If you ain't heard...you need to ask somebody.
Well, if you didn't get my panicked, desperate...strangely chill and laid back texts this afternoon, the rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated. We just got our window shot out.
I skimped on details but here it is in all it's non dramatic glory. I'm so late talking about it because I have to get back on campus tomorrow and I was too busy sleeping and packing shit up.
So here we go:
Mom and I went to the bank about 10 AM, had Mickey D's for lunch because I got that paper, then came home. We watched some of her be-damned judge shows in her room in the back of the house, and I expressed the desire to sleep (at this point I hadn't been to sleep since about midnight). It's a good thing I waited a while on that, because just as mom was getting ready to take a nap, we hear a few shots outside. LOUD shots.
Mom gives pause, screams "Oh shit, that's shooting!" then we hear a crash in the living room. I scream at her several times to get down (I almost cussed her because she seemed so determined to go in the living room, WHERE THE DAMN SHOOTING WAS) and I got her as low from the window as possible. I also went down and unfortunately cut her hand with my talon-nails.
Anyway, I told her to call the cops and we did, she relays whatever the hell just happened. She gets dressed because the cops are coming and for whatever hands the phone off to me. So now I'm talking to the dispatcher and literally army crawling to the living room because we have so many goddamn windows in this house. And that's about when I texted whoever all I texted, because that's what you do in an emergency *dies*
After a few minutes of walking around the back part of the house and talking to the dispatcher, the cops finally show up and they're looking around the front of the house. Mom runs outside despite me and the dispatcher telling her not to, but we figure what the fuck ever and the dispatcher hangs up. I throw some shoes on and follow her to the front of the house, we let the cops in and they examine the living room.
The bullet, .45 caliber (which, if you've never seen it before and I certainly haven't, is a rather large, rather heavy bullet and actually bigger than police issue), as it turned out had gone through the window leaving a sizable hole, through the blinds, knocked the damn curtains down and landed on the couch. If you didn't know, I've been sleeping on the couch for the past year or so (mostly for me back, I don't actually have a bed upstairs) and I actually worry about this shit all the time. Naturally this isn't the first time we've heard shots ring out in the hood, just the first time our WINDOW GOT FUCKING SHOT OUT. So suffice it to say that if I'd taken a nap when I wanted to, I'd...uh, be fucked about now.
So they do their paperwork, for some reason we joke around with the cops (I mean, at the end of the day since no one died it is kinda funny...right?), got some pictures taken of the window and we patched the hole up for mom to fix later. After calling/texting/screaming frantically at everyone we know, that's pretty much about it...
Exciting isn't it? I never thought I'd say it but I'm bout ready to be back in Johnson City. I think I can outrun rednecks don't you?
January 14, 2009
AKA They Can't Catch Nightwing.