Felonious Spunk

Last night, I was robbed at gunpoint while standing outside of a nice restaurant, in a well-lit parking lot, chatting with my friend. The whole transaction took about 20 seconds. I had a flight response and my friend had a fight response. Here's what happened:

We just had a dinner inside as part of our monthly Cheerful Givers group. Several groups of people were still lingering in the parking lot. My friend and I, however, were last. A mid-size four-door sedan rolled up to us. It contained four young black males. One spoke from the open window behind the driver's seat, "Give me your money. Give me your purse." Oh, sh!t. He's got a hoody on. I've seen this on 'The Wire.' He's up to no good. He got out of the car. I immediately noticed he was carrying a shotgun, modified with a pistol-grip. I took my purse and threw it about 5 feet from me, away from him, also and I turned and began to run to the front door of the restaurant. That's what Oprah taught me. Throw and go. He may get a shot off, but I'll take buckshot in my ass. He's not getting my face.

My friend sternly said, "No!" I stopped. No? C'mon! Let's just give them what they want and get outta' here. "No!" She repeated. "Look at me. I'm pregnant. [8 months along.] If you kill me it will be a double murder. Do you want to commit a double murder?" Someone in the car must've said to get the purse [my purse!] and go. And they sped off as silently as they had come.

~~~

I've had dozens of chances since then to retell and relive the story. It doesn't feel real still. My body knew that there was something major going on. I've been unsettled physically. I had a days' worth of stopping accounts, ordering replacements [did you know the NC DMV has online relicensing?], retrieving my old cell phone and getting it back into service. I've had a lot of emotions--your basic Elizabeth Kubler-Ross cocktail of emotions--all day. I'm exhausted.

I am having difficulty having charity for those who robbed me. I have begrudgingly prayed for them. If they needed my money enough to commit a felony, then God help them. That's as charitable as I can be. But I'm not averse to a healthy dose of earthly justice either. I feel very violated. I did not have any life-flashing-before-me type thoughts. I told David. He assured me it's because it wasn't my time. Security is illusory. My friend was heroic/crazy/inspired. Take your pick. If the thing had gone another way, I would be seeing her crowned in red in heaven from my dismal view in purgatory. And eleven children would be motherless. And two men would be left to raise them all.

This morning, Mary Jo came padding into our room in her usual morning-chipper mood. I hugged her, invited her into bed with me and kissed her baby-smooth cheek. She smelled real. I was encased in concrete gratitude. Thank you, God. Thank you for my life. Thank you for this sweet child's happy spirit and thank you for this day.