Somewhere along the way to bipolar disorder, I was walking outdoors with my son, who was 6 years old. We were trick or treating at every house we could. Jimmy was wearing his bronze lion costume, which he'd picked out himself. His Halloween bag was almost full to the brim with colorful wrappers. My mother and Deake were sitting on the porch steps of my house, overseeing the goings-on in the neighborhood, and passing out candy.
James and I walked past a dark brown house with its windows open, cutting through the car and the approach to the house. Some older teenagers came out and told me to fuck off. I was not about to let that slide. I began yelling and swearing at them. The kid who told me to fuck off was yelling and swearing back at me the loudest. I bellowed, "Stand on your mama's shoulders and kiss my fucking ass!" I could see his complexion change. He went wild and spat at me. The scrock missed me and landed on the ground, or I would have lunged at his throat. A mushy fat girl approached me and pushed me as hard as she could. I was a little amused. I slammed her on the back with the flat of my hand, and the momentum landed her in the street. She lifted herself up and looked at me inquisitively. There was a silence that fell upon the group, just for a moment. Suddenly, I was being punched in the head from different directions. Every hit hurt, but didn't bother me all that much. I was a football player in my youth and used to getting hit. But I wanted it to end so I'd have my turn. But it continued, and these punches grew harder and more aggressive. I knew they wanted me to fall to the street so they could kick me. But I was too tough. I stood there taking it. When it ended, the kids scattered. "He's going in the house to get a knife," Jimmy said. I knew I'd best be careful. I had to think of my son, bipolar or not. "Run three houses down the street to Grandma and Deake!" I said. The boy continued to stand next to me. "Go!" I said. I wanted him safe. He remained.
I saw two or three of these people in their vehicles, one of them in a new-looking black truck. It was the end of the month and they were moving. The driver was a woman with long thin black hair. "You fucking witch!" I shouted. "It takes six of you cocksuckers against one, you wimpy-ass motherfuckers! Come on, come back!" I said. This didn't bother her. So I said, instead, "You witch, you ugly whore, suck it like a mutt, you fucking witch slut asshole bitch cunt whore!" I thought she was going to slam on the brakes and come after me. She didn't. So I continued yelling at all of them. I was so mad I nearly saw the red blood vessels in the backs of my eyes bulging.
And I wanted to show the children in the neighborhood a real monster. I thought maybe it would be a treat for them to see and hear some true evil on Halloween. I yelled and yelled as Jimmy and I made our way to my house. Children and parents were looking at me then turning away. "Was that you yelling and screaming?" my mom said. She repeated that question numerous times and I didn't answer. I showed her my face. "A kid hit me," I said. She got a steak out of the freezer, and I went into the basement with it. I could smoke in the cellar.
Jimmy came down to see me. "The fucking kids," I said. I was full of rage. "Mom!" he said. "When we walked across their driveway you almost tripped over their little boy." "I didn't know that," I said. I didn't care. This was Halloween, 2006 and I am still angry.
The near future, however, was far grimmer.
