Another deep breath, another lung full of water

Another deep breath, another lung full of water.

Two days ago I had breakfast with a very old friend who I never get to see but who I consider quite important to me. I finished putting together my first ruff, ruff edit of my documentary about Pascagoula, Mississippi, and I had a small adventure on my way home.

Instead of going home to my empty house after working in the lab, I decide to stop by this “guy’s” house I have come to know. “He” is actually a really good kid at heart, I believe, and I kind of feel like I should look out for him like an older brother. “He” is local. Real local. “He” definitely is a person my dad would disapprove of if you know what I mean.

“He” comes from hard people who are usually hard up. “He” is un-educated. “He” surrounds “himself” with the lesser off of south-east Ohio society, who don’t have the money to solve even one of their own problems. Because money does solve a lot of this life’s problems.

Most of the time the people who hang out there are smoking pot, drinking, or who knows what. It’s actually a very interesting watering hole. Because that’s what it is. A watering. Hole.

I have been hanging out there recently because (here is why I am writing this in my photography journal) I am working on a story for next quarter’s photo story class. I am not sure exactly what it is yet, but I have a general feeling. One thing I have always wanted to explore is the world of addiction and the psychology of the people whose life is so sandblasted by such a need. This place is kind of a jumping off spot.

Soooooooooo…….anyway. I stop by there on my way home from the lab. As soon as I am out of my car door “he” is outside, “his” shirt off, sweat from hair to jeans…and a busted nose and some other red stains of blood about “his” arms and torso.

Apparently, “his” neighbor beat “him” up for getting the front of the building wet while washing “his” bike. Extreme in most situations, but considering the amount of alcohol that gets consumed around there, it’s not implausible. Also, and totally apparently, the cops came and handled the situation and tried to find this neighbor, and then left.

@#* this, and *!@!! that, about what “he” was going to do to “his” neighbor the next time “he” sees him, and well, I asked “him” if the police gave “him” the option of pressing charges. I also suggested that letting the police handle it would be better than taking care of it by “himself”. No point in ruining your future or getting hurt because someone else has issues. I thought this good advice. I even gave “him” a ride to the police station to file a police report. I once got the shit kicked out of me real bad, so I know how it feels.

Flash forward a half an hour later to back at “his” apartment. Someone I have never met before stops by. Starts telling us all his problems. How he got arrested last night and he doesn’t have money to pay the rent, and that his friend is an alcoholic and checked him in to this place and that.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that he stopped by because he was around when the fight happened.

And I also forgot to mention that I asked “him” if he started the fight in any way before I volunteered my assistance in getting “him” to the police station. Of course, no was “his” response.

Anyway, “he” and his girlfriend are grilling this stranger about what he saw and what he told the police. Something is mentioned about a knife. He says nothing, and then goes on telling this roll about his woes.

Things are still pretty tense. “He” continually goes into tangents about the fight and what is going to happen, and how “he” is going to press charges, and that the guy better be careful, and what “he” is going to tell the prosecutor.

More compulsive than angry, but “he” is definitely ampted. Here is where things get raw dog. Another stranger walks in. This guy is the Christopher Lloyd character from taxi; mean though, with long hair, and a touch of Vietnam vet in him. He speaks as if he has been on a blizz for two days. He wears a grin on his face like someone who is about to bear bad news and enjoy it. “Hey man,” what happened?

Long story short, Christopher Lloyd’s regrettable twin tells “him” that “his” neighbor is at the clinic with a knife wound. He asks “him” what happened with that same grin, but doesn’t accuse anybody of anything. He just prods they way people like him do.

The guy I am visiting of course does what anyone you know would do. “He” picks up my cup of water, (that’s right, water) and sends it violently to the floor. Something clicked over in his brain. It was visible despite the projectile. I start to reassess my first impression, or rather, a long standing chain of occurrences start to make sense. I see where this is heading fast. Things are starting to get ugly. I excuse myself and yullah.

Well it turns out, because I stopped by again later, that no one was stabbed and that the guy was actually in the hospital getting his hand in a cast because he shattered it on this kid’s head.

What I keep rolling over in my head is this: Did I leave at the right time, or is that when I should have stayed? OK, I did not even have my camera with me, but I think this question is applicable to when I do have one. I guess you can never know when something bad is going to happen. But I know you always learn from experience. That is what I am chalking this one up to.