You never know what some people are capable of.

You never know what some people are capable of.

That’s what I think as I’m nearly hit by a car while I’m jogging. I’m running through an intersection when I notice a car starting to make a left turn right under the No Left Turn sign, which has been posted here since the beginning of time. How does she not see it? How does she not know you can’t do that? And how does she not see me as she makes the turn and comes right at my body? I start screaming at her and waving my arms. She sees me. She stops. I keep on yelling. Her windows are already rolled down. I yell, “You can’t turn left there! And this is exactly why!”

She is apologizing. I’m too worked up to consider that this might be an honest mistake. I keep yelling, “You could’ve hit me and killed me!”

I finally stop yelling, continue running, and begin saying to myself, Geez, you never know what some people are capable of. She might’ve hit me if I hadn’t yelled.

But as I keep running, I realize that I just completely flipped my lid on a stranger in the middle of a busy intersection. I consider that she might be thinking to herself, You never know what some people are capable of. That guy might have wanted to fight me, or smash my windshield. That guy could have pulled a knife on me.

It’s possible she was thinking none of these things. It’s also possible I freaked her out.

Just like I was freaked out a few nights ago at Walgreen’s.

A few nights ago I was running a quick errand to pick up some Tylenol for my wife and a thank you card for a friend, one of those trips that felt pedestrian and normal until I heard the voices yelling from near the pharmacy counter. I heard a loud sound, like someone slamming a door. Then a voice over the loudspeaker said “Manager to the pharmacy,” and had that sound of panic. I walked into the aisle with the pain relievers, which gave me a view of the pharmacy counter. I could see a long line of a dozen people waiting, and one tall man pacing wildly in front of the counter, flailing his arms, and shouting, “Give me my medicine! Give me my medicine NOW!”

You never know what some people are capable of.

I grabbed the Tylenol and then lingered there a bit, maybe even took a few steps closer. The woman behind the counter kept saying, “Please step back, sir. I need to help other customers.”

And the man just kept yelling, “But I need my medicine. It was my turn! Give me my medicine, bitch!”

He reached a hand in his pocket. Then he put both hands behind his back. I saw a flicker between his hands where he had just opened a switchblade. He held it behind his back for a moment, closed it, and put it back in his pocket.

I took a small step toward him, feeling that urge to do, I don’t know what, something. Yet I was also tethered back by that voice that says, “Don’t go being a hero and getting yourself stabbed on an otherwise pleasant Saturday afternoon.”

I walked toward another man standing calmly in the line. I stepped close to him and whispered, “That guy has a knife, and if he tries to do anything, then you and I will need to do something.”

He said nothing in response. He just stood still, staring at what was happening. The man with the knife in his pocket yelled, “This is going to be a homicide or a suicide, I don’t know which yet.”

The woman at the counter stood behind a makeshift wall of plexiglass that was propped up flimsily on the counter. She said, “Why aren’t the police here yet?”

The man stepped closer, swung his arm, and tried to punch her through the plexiglass. She stepped back quickly and avoided the hit. He said, “Dammit. I just needed my medicine.”

He walked away from the counter and quickly toward the front of the store. That’s the moment I finally decided that I would not intervene. The tether on my back is strong.

A manager followed him out of the door from a safe distance just to make sure he left. I followed behind. As soon as he got to the sidewalk on Broadway, the police arrived and quickly approached him. The man immediately dropped to the pavement, sprawled out his arms, and tossed the knife out to the side. As if he’d done this before. As if this might not be his first night in jail without the medicine he was so desperate to get.

You never know what some people are capable of. What is that man capable of when he receives his medication? What am I capable of when I can more quickly weigh my own fear and security against my willingness to prevent another man from stabbing someone in the heat of a moment? What were those other bystanders capable of? Could we have trusted each other to take action and stop him from stabbing someone? Were any of us capable of taking a perhaps more subtle action sooner, stepping toward the man calmly, and through words and presence help him calm down and get the actual help he needs instead of being arrested?

Back to today. I’ve now run three or four blocks passed where the woman almost hit me with her car. I’m weighing all of these thoughts about my own anger, my own heat-of-the-moment triggers, my big reactions, my verbal switchblades.

The woman had no way of knowing that I was hit by a car on my bicycle three years ago, that I flipped over the handlebars and landed on my head, and if not for my helmet my brain would still be soup, or worse. She had no way of knowing that, for as calm as I strive to be, I have some breaking points, and nearly getting hit by a car again is one of them. Within a few blocks I’ve calmed myself down, reminded myself that I am not my worst reaction. I do not want to be one more reason that a simple moment among humans making mistakes escalates so quickly and risks becoming violent, Lord help me.

That’s when I hear a horn honk. I slow my pace, turn to the left, and see the woman pulling over on the street. She’s waving. She says, “I just wanted to find you to say how sorry I am. I’m new to the area. I was lost. My GPS was telling me to turn there. I am so sorry.”

I said I am sorry, too. I said I’ve been hit by a car, which is why I overreacted. I said thank you for coming back. Thank you for apologizing. I’m sorry you were lost. I’m sorry I overreacted and made the problem bigger.

You never know what some people are capable of.

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What I’m currently reading: George Saunders’ Liberation Day

What I’m currently listening to: The 1975

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I’ve heard from a number of readers that The Thread is a little book that just looks good and feels good to hold. Who knows, it might look and feel even better after being unwrapped by someone you love! You can buy gift copies of The Thread here:

You can also now purchase a limited edition poetry broadside of my poem “A Prayer on the Feast of Saint Francis.” It’s a great gift for poetry lovers and art lovers alike!

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Peace and grace,

Andrew