Anatomy of a Shooting

I saw it happening. I was minding my own business just trying to get a Sprite. Yes, it was 4 in the morning, but whatever I'm grown. I can go out in the middle of the night if I want. He was blocking the doorway outside the gas station as I was going in. He had that familiar "you niggaz betta not fuck with me look." I did my best to abide by his wishes as I said "excuse me" and stepped in the store. My Spidey sense was tingling something serious. Something told me it was about to go down and to get the hell out of there expeditiously. I dropped my $1.19 and headed for the door. That's when I saw it.

He had fire red eyes... the by product of too much weed or perhaps too much Patron, since we were right across the street from the strip club. Maybe some dancer took advantage of his inebriated state and got an extra $20 out of him. Maybe some cat tried to play him in the club. I don't know what the story was, but the eyes are what told me there was about to be trouble. He had that hardcore thug, about to cry look, but as we all know, thugs don't cry. Thugs handle business. And in this case, I saw the business he was about to handle. His right hand kept fidgeting with something in his pocket. I'm no gun expert, but I saw the handle. It was a .22.

Shit, I thought to myself. What can I do now? Do I hang out in the store and wait for the shit to go down, or do I make a dash to the car and peel out. I didn't want to make him any more nervous than he already was. I saw him talking to himself, although I couldn't tell if he was trying to talk himself into something or talk himself out of something. I hung back for a minute, in full observation mode. This brother kind of looked like me. I mean, he wasn't nearly as handsome as I, (kidding) but he had the look of a brother who could amount to something. He wasn't the stereotypical, white tee and saggy jeans thug that White people would avoid on the street. He looked like a urban professional in casual mode. His gear was kind of fresh, a brown and white Roc a Wear shirt with some nice slacks, and timberland type sneakers. He had on a chain with a platinum cross, although for all I know it could have been fake. But my point was, he didn't have the scary Black man look, except for those red eyes and that furrowed brow. His eyes were threatening like Ice Cube circa 1991, in 2007 Atlanta.

I browsed the store as much as I could with out looking wicked obvious, but how many times can I pass the oatmeal cream pies and nudie magazines before the Pakistani behind the bulletproof glass got suspicious? I had to take my chances. I put my keys in my left hand, cradling the Sprite in my right and walked directly to the whip without making eye contact. It seemed the hard soles of my shoes (I still had on my work clothes, although untucked and tie loosened) clicked with fiery intensity until I made it to the ride. I started it up and put in reverse when I heard a booming voice.

"Nigga, what the fuck do you think you doing?"

Oh, shit! Is he talking to me? I don't have nothing to do with it. Let me ride out in peace. I looked up and he was glaring in my direction, with that fire in his eyes. I was shook to say the least. I saw him reach in the pocket again, and thinking he was going for his piece, my fight or flight response took over. I chose flight, but my mind kept it cool for a minute.

"What's up, pimpin!?" I quizzically responded.

"Nah, not you homey! I was talking to that nigga" he said, pointing with his left hand, his right still in his over sized pocket.

"Aiight" I said relieved and backed up.

I threw the clutch in drive and sped out of there. By the time I got to the exit of the parking lot, I heard him arguing with the other dude that I was afraid to turn around and look at. I heard "bitch azz nigga", and "pussy muhfucka" and realized the shit was about to go down. There are just some things you don't say to a man without it getting violent and that had crossed the line. I didn't want to waste anymore time in this life threatening situation. It would be just my luck to get caught by a stray. I hit the street and heard three pops. One of them had let the guns fly, just seconds after I got out of harms way. Instead of just going across the street to my crib, I drove around way out of my way for about 15 minutes just to be clear of the situation. When I returned home, I saw the police blue lights, but no red ambulance lights at the gas station. I guess my man had bad aim and missed. I'm just glad I got the hell out of there before it went down. Needless to say, I won't be sleeping tonight.