The Unfortunate Gift

A Real Knock-Out

CHAPTER FOUR

A Real Knock-Out

            So there I was, at a party. I’m jumping ahead a bit, but why bother with the boring? So the scene went something like this: we’re in a house full of people. The music is so loud I can feel the bass rattling my chest. The DJ played a mix of genres; industrial, some heavy rap, a little trance and ska, some house… It was LOUD. I sat in an armchair while Shell worked the room. She was drinking beer – something of which I never did like the taste – and she was flirting with fervor. If you have ever been to a party, which most of you have, you have no choice but to submit and endure the atmosphere. So there I was, enduring, when a girl picked a fight with my buddy Shelly.

            Looking back, I understand that the girl was on something. It is insane how cracked out people can get on that stuff! Take the most responsible, normal, loving person on earth and give them some meth or some cocaine – in-sane. They go berserk. Funny thing is they usually have no idea they ever acted the way they did – and are shocked to awaken in a jail cell – or worse.  Some never do wake up. Literally. So this girl started an argument with Shell, and my gal stood firm. At this point, Shelly was not drunk. She was buzzing a little, but still seemed for all intents to be in total control. Watching Shell in a confrontation is magical. She is always calm and succinct. She was with this girl. Shell even tried to help the girl, because she knew she was high on something. Sometimes I imagine, in a grown-up world, that Shelly will become a juvie counselor one day. She could do it. She’s tough.

            Shelly maneuvered the girl outside, where they could hear. I followed. Shelly tried to make peace. The girl was unreasonable. This girl, she pulled a knife on Shell. I got involved. There was a struggle. People started watching and cheering. I did not want that attention. WE did not need that attention. Shelly wrestled the knife away from this wild child, but her left hand got cut in the process. Shelly kept yelling, “Stop! You are not yourself right now! Listen to me! I do not want to hurt you! Stop!” The girl punched Shelly in the jaw. Shelly took it. The girl kicked Shelly. Shell took it. The girl went to knee Shell in the crotch, but enough was enough. Did I mention Shelly is stout and tough? She and her three brothers grew up roaming the streets of their neighborhood, in the poorer district of the city. Shelly was a lady, but she was no pushover. Shelly made the motion of balling up her fist look like part of a well-rehearsed ballet. She made a fist, took the stance, made the swing and POW. I watched, my mouth open, as that skinny ratty girl of a thing went flying. One shot, she was out cold. That’s when the cop tapped on Shelly’s shoulder. Did I mention bad timing?

            Shall we fast forward to our exit from the jailhouse? My mug shot wasn’t bad. What? Let Shelly go down alone? I think not. I went in with her. I passed drug tests with flying colors. Other than a low alcohol reading, Shelly was clear. We pretty much got a lecture on fighting, but I will say the cops allowed Shelly to state her case. Funny thing is – they didn’t get the girl, the crazy one who started it all. Some of her friends must have nabbed her to prevent the cops from arresting her, too. “I’m not a trouble maker, officer, and neither is my friend. In fact, she is always my designated driver. Please please do not give her a record – she is a saint, I swear.” Shelly was so sweet, defending my honor.

            “Consider this more of a warning. Do you have the name of the other participant?” The police officer had dark circles under his eyes and the shadow of a beard sprouting along his jawline. He must have been tired, dealing with punks and drunks all night.

            “No sir,” Shelly offered in a polite tone. “She was, shall we say, compromised at the moment. Meth would be my guess, but anything is possible. I do not remember ever seeing her in class. I will look for her.” The cop stopped writing and eyeballed Shelly. “Not THAT way! Just look to see if I recognize her! “

            I interjected, “Officer – I saw the fight – Shelly tried to stop the girl, to make peace. The girl was wild, sir…” He nodded and resumed his exhausted stare. After we left the jail – something I hoped to never experience again – we went to Waffle House and ate breakfast. Shelly was downing a pile of hash browns covered in cheese and chili. I nursed a cup of coffee and picked at my pecan waffle.  Shelly talked in between mouthfuls. “I dunno Ren, I really feel like I need to find this girl.”

            “Revenge doesn’t sound like you,” I stated.

            “Not revenge, no, of course not. How can you have hard feelings against someone who isn’t in their right mind? Remember that hearing several years ago, when that man who was severely retarded – I mean mentally challenged…” Shelly looked around the Waffle House, as if someone were listening in on our conversation. I exchanged a puzzled look. Shelly continued in a near-whisper, “You never know when the PC Police will get you. You can’t say retarded anymore, you know! So anyway, remember? That guy – he was not in his right mind, ever! And he accidentally killed a person – a woman I think, and they put him on trial for manslaughter? Well, he couldn’t help it! He wasn’t himself! I always thought that was wrong – them condemning him.” Shelly took another bite of hash browns.

            “Random, but OK.” I needed more creamer and could not see a waitress anywhere.

            “Oh, not random. Sorry – I mean this girl last night. I feel like she was not in control and I want to talk to her when she is sober. For some reason I feel like I need to find her and talk to her. I want to make things right.” Shelly paused long enough to swig some Diet Coke.

            I looked Shelly in the eye. “Are you telling me you feel a burden for this person? You are driven to find her? Is this your Miss-Fix-It routine or are you serious?” I myself used to be a chronic fixer, but not anymore. After I had gone through some therapy years ago, I finally became comfortable in my own skin. I stopped fixing, but I did feel a burden for someone from time to time. A burden was different. When someone is on your mind and you know there isn’t any immediate reason why you should ponder this person, it could be a burden. I say burden, but what else would you call it? For example, once the thought of a childhood friend weighed heavily on me. Everyday I really felt a compassion for this person, whom I had not seen in years. I started praying for her – wherever she was. I just prayed the Lord would keep her safe and love her, be with her, whatever was going on. This went on for almost a week. Then one night I had a dream about this girl – Lisa - only she was older, of course. She was walking across a large, green lawn and she was holding a beautiful newborn baby in her arms. She was smiling at me. When I awoke, I knew I had to find her.

            It took me several days, but I finally found this girl’s number. She was thrilled to hear from me! She actually remembered me from grade school. She told me she had become pregnant and she was not married – the baby’s father left as soon as he found out she was expecting. Jerk. I told her, “I know this sounds crazy, but I have had you on my mind for over a week – and last week I just prayed for you because I could not get you out of my thoughts! I hope everything is ok.” She responded quickly;

            “Thanks!! I needed some prayers, so I am happy to hear that! Yeah, they thought I would lose my baby – the baby was sick, and on top of that I hemorrhaged during the delivery, so Mom thought I was a goner, too. It was quite the eventful birth. I was so afraid my baby would not make it – I never stopped to consider myself!”

            “When was this? When did you deliver the baby?” I asked.

            “Well, he’s almost two weeks old! Twelve days old now and looking great. His name is Michael. I’m so glad you called!” She seemed giddy. We email regularly and I get pics of my “burden” – he is beautiful. Lisa and I have reconnected, all through a session of intercession!

            So that was just one of my burdens. I understood Shelly’s burden. Shelly is the maternal kind anyway when it gets down to personality. I think that is why certain types of boys love to date Shelly. She takes good care of them and pampers them. She will make an awesome Mom some day. I finished my coffee and cleared my throat. “Well, let’s go find us a skinny white girl with a penchant for meth, shall we?”