DSC_2212

He aimed the gun at me.

I looked back right in time to see the barrel of a gun. A heavy, black, stocky gun. Something my ex would have had no problem identifying.

He aimed the gun at me, leaving me to make a split-second decision: freeze or flee?

Who was he? This menacing figure, dressed in all black: a hoodie, gloves, scarf hid his identity. Not that it was necessary. I mean there I was, standing in the middle of the projects in Hunter’s Point, San Francisco, where street lights flicker obscurely and danger lurks in every shadow.

About 10 feet away from me, on the curb in front of my then-boyfriend’s residence, he aimed the gun at me. Pointed the barrel in my direction, holding my fate in his morally-misguided hands. My breath halted, my brain stopped, but my body kept moving. My hands unlocked the car door, my feet stepped inside my car, my fingers revived the ignition, and my paralyzed feet laid heavily upon the gas pedal.

The next time I blinked, I was at a stoplight on Third Street, a mile away. I don’t remember driving, speeding down the pitch-black street, car door half open, one foot in, one foot out, causing an irreparable scrape on my shoe. A scrape that forever reminded me of my brush with death, my flirtation with harm. What I do remember, is my phone ringing and ringing, until I picked it up to hear my then-boyfriend asking where I was, only to find out I’d inadvertently stumbled upon a robbery-in-progress. A crime in which my then-boyfriend was the victim.

He pointed the gun at me, but decided not to shoot, just as easily as he decided to rob. After he pointed the gun at me, I left, moving at a speed that is inexplicable. I left, with intentions to return to MY neighborhood, a safe place with dog walkers and nosy neighbors, breathtaking views of the city and tour buses. But I didn’t.

After he pointed the gun at me, I left, but then I came back. Back to where my then-boyfriend was still waiting for me, in the very spot that he had pointed the gun at me. Shaken to the core, but faking a façade of fearlessness, I went back. It wasn’t until I’d recounted the event a hundred times over, that I remembered what he said when he pointed the gun at me. It’s something I’ll never forget.

And nothing was ever, ever the same.

Erinn