January 26

He held a gun to my head and I saw the humanity in his eyes as they locked into mine
so I forgave him as soon as he lowered the pistol and jogged away with my purse.

I was rattled but maybe he was too,
and I don’t know what it takes for a life to lead up to robbing someone at gunpoint,
but it can’t be good.
I don’t envy him.
He can have my purse that was a gift from my sister.
He can have my wallet that I’ve held onto for way too long.
My crappy phone with all its pictures of my dead cat that I forgot to save anywhere else.
My keys. Even the stupid white cat shaped house key that reminds me of Rudy.
My lipstick. My Southwest Airlines drink tickets.
He can have those things because they’re just things.
I’ll never be in a position in my life where I feel the best option for me
is to hold a woman at gunpoint so she’ll hand over her purse and whatever’s inside.

I didn’t have cash.
I cancelled my cards immediately.
What good is a $400 key fob without the car?
It was an iPhone 7 and Apple was already on iPhone 11.
Not much worth.
Not what my life is worth.
He let me keep that, and I felt thankful to him.
Is this Stockholm syndrome?

The police contacted me later.
There’s been an arrest.
He had your things, but we can’t return them to you.
So now the police have my things, not me, not him. The police.
Is that somehow better?
Maybe. I don’t think the police will use my things to hurt me, though I’ve heard stories.

Anyway, the photo lineup.
Yes, I recognized him immediately.
But then I second guessed.
I know how these things work, and by these things, I mean memory.
Memory is fickle and tells lies that are easy to believe.
I said I was unsure, which is true, but now I find his picture sprinkled across news sites, and I know.
It’s him.

He was arrested the same day he robbed me.
Less than 24 hours later.
He was arrested after robbing another woman and sexually assaulting her.
It wasn’t his first time sexually assaulting someone.
There were more reports.

Now I know that human moment we shared in which I thought he was looking at me,
apologizing with his wide, young eyes,
I know he was looking at me, deciding whether to make me go with him.
Deciding whether to hurt me in a way I might not recover from.
Once again I’m thankful to him that he didn’t.
I hate myself for being thankful to him, but I can’t help it.