My Surreal Sunday

It was unexpected.  By that, I mean, having never been punched in the face before, I didn't recognize what was happening until after it happened.  It was a touch past surreal.  Maybe next time I'll know I should duck.

I have no idea how the day ended up this way.  The plan: head to Menlo Park Presbyterian Church for morning service, chill out in the area for a bunch of hours, and then head back to the church for the 7 PM young adult service.  As part of my day hanging around, I thought a movie would be a good time killer, so I found a big theater, drove over there after the service got out around noon, parked the car, and went looking for some food.

Ah, Redwood City, a fine downtown area indeed, if not a tad on the ritzy side.  As I rounded a corner towards the "food court" area next to the theater, I passed a man on the sidewalk that seemed to give me a strange look. So it goes sometimes, I thought, and continued on.  About halfway down the street, as I was checking out the many food options, I realized the man that gave me a strange look was following me, and that's when he approached me.

We had a short conversation about what I was doing and what my plans were, and I had a sense that something strange was going on.  We walked into the Chipotle together, as I figured burritos were a good choice of food.  Plus, it was a public establishment that might discourage any untoward action.  Or so I thought.  I stood in line, and he asked me if I knew what I wanted.  I told him I was still figuring it out, all the while trying to figure out how to separate myself from him, for the hair on the back of my neck grew straighter by the second.

That's when I didn't recognize his fist coming at me.  Like so often said, it was in slow motion.  Rather than reacting, I stood confused, trying to figure out what he was doing.  That was sorted out pretty quickly when he hit me, but I was still confused: why would someone want to hit me, much less someone I don't know?

I backed away with my hands in front of me, ready to try to ward of the next blow that never came.  At first the ladies at the counter implored us to take it outside, not wanting violence in their fine eatery.  I agreed vociferously, quickly winning them over with my consistent backing and asking for them to call the police.  The man was still saying things to me, but I wasn't paying too much attention to that so much as his location and my places of safe harbor.  After the ladies at the counter confirmed they were calling the police, the man left and walked down the street in a pretty normal manner.

One punch.  That was it. It's hard for me to call one punch an assault, but that's where the police were, so I wasn't going to argue.  Since they had him in custody due to some fast and fantastic police work, I was asked if I wanted to press charges.  It took me a while to decide.  All I could think about was compassion and love, and how it's so hard to love those who hate you, but that doesn't get you off the hook.  So I was leaning towards no, but I then I thought some more.

I'd had some time to reflect on what happened as I waited for the police to show up, and I ran everything over in my head.  I can't remember the specifics of what he was saying, but the general gist I was picking up was he didn't like me for some reason, and thought what I was doing was wrong.  I don't know what that's a reference to, since I had never seen this man before in my life, and we knew nothing of each other.  He didn't want my money, and he never said anything about how I might have wronged him.  I was clearly targeted by him, so a quick inventory of myself told me he thought I was gay.  Either that, or he didn't like my orange shirt?  I still wear my rainbow bracelet every day to show my support for the LGBTQ population, and that was the only thing I could think of that might have caught his attention.

Maybe I'm wrong, but it felt to me like a hate crime.  In the end, that's why I decided to press charges.  If he was disturbed, or high, or I had unknowingly wronged him, I might have let it pass and let go, but there was that nagging feeling in the back of my head that there was something else to it.  If he had hit me because I was gay, even if it was only a slim possibility, I couldn't let it pass.  How could I look my friends or family in the eye after fighting against things like that for so long, and then when the opportunity came upon me, just letting it slide?  How is that justice?

But maybe I'm just projecting an idea to understand these strange events.  It's easier to think that someone won't decide today that you're the one to be violent towards.  It's easier to think that everyone acts in a rational way, and that one need only show a person the "right" way to change a course of action.  It's easier to think that everything has a simple reason behind it, and that if we understand that reason, if in some way it all makes sense to us, then it just gets better.  But it's not easy.  Even if I can fully convince myself of his possible ugly intentions, I still don't see a way to clearing up the confusion I can't shake.  My mind works so hard to try to understand everything I can encounter, and it sure is working overdrive on this one, but I'm no closer to understanding now than I was as it was happening.

I never was angry at the man, and I'm still not.  Whatever his reasons were, in the end he needed some kind of help, and perhaps his arrest will point him towards that help.  Really, I felt sad for him.  I felt sad for all the points in his life that led him to the one of violence with me.  I felt sad for how his life may be so different now that he hit me.  I felt sad that he didn't even see the wrong in what he had done, with they way in which he casually walked away revealing so much.

The police officer told me I would most likely never see him again, and I suppose I'm fine with that.  But part of me wishes I could see him again, perhaps just in passing, just to say that I pray peace finds his life to free him from whatever led him to hit me, and that I forgive him.