He shoves my computer onto the floor to make room for his fat ass.
I find this very offensive. So offensive, in fact, that I momentarily forget to be terrified. “Could you not break my computer, please?”
He settles himself in the seat, turning partway to look at me, his girth making it difficult for him to do so comfortably.
“You don’t seem to understand what’s happening here, girly. You don’t need to be worried about your laptop; what you need to be worried about is not getting shot.”
Tears well up in my eyes. All I can think right now is how sad my babies would be if I never came home again. “Please don’t shoot me. I have three kids. And my ex is a total asshole, so if I die, they’re going to grow up with him as their only parent, and they’re going to be seriously messed up from it, I can promise you that. He tried to steal a watch from me. A gift he gave me for my birthday. What kind of guy does that?”
“Cry me a river. I don’t give a shit about your kids or your ex.”
The man is obviously a criminal and is either already a murderer or is possibly about to become one. His answer is not surprising at all, but I find it unacceptable. It pisses me off. Do I expect him to have party manners? Apparently, yes. I do. Clearly, I’m nuts. Being threatened at gunpoint does not bring out the hero in me. It brings out the crazy. I can’t seem to let his bad manners slide. They eat away at me until I can’t stay quiet any longer.
“Don’t say that about my children.”
His mouth falls open a little. “Lady . . . are you nuts?”
I squeeze the steering wheel with both hands and stare out the windshield. My brain is buzzing. I can hardly think straight. All I can remember is that this guy does not give a shit about anything, and he’s threatening my life and thereby threatening to leave my kids mom-less.
“Yeah, I might be nuts. Just keep saying mean things about my kids and see what happens.”
I have no idea where this foolish courage or recklessness is coming from. I realize that it’s highly possible I will piss this guy off so much that he’ll shoot me just to shut me up. But I can’t seem to stop myself. It’s like this weird adrenaline is coursing through my veins, controlling my brain, controlling my mouth, controlling everything that’s happening around me. And the only way to get rid of this nervous energy seems to be through talking. So talking is what I do.
“I’ve had enough of people shitting on my kids, okay? My son got kicked out of daycare because the stupid director has a problem with kids who have speech impediments. I mean, how fucked up is that?”
I look at the guy, but he’s just staring at me, so I keep going. “That’s wrong. You should never be rude to a child just because he has a disability. You should try to understand where he’s coming from, put yourself in his shoes. And if you have something to say about it, you don’t say it to the kid. You can scar him for life doing that. You say it to the parent. Alone. Handicaps are not a choice. You should never make a kid feel bad about being who he was born to be.”
The man has nothing to say to that. His mouth hangs open like he’s been hypnotized. I shake my head, disgusted. I’m getting nowhere with this guy, and now instead of scared, I’m pissed. This reaction of mine must be some kind of survival mechanism or something, because it makes no sense. I know that, and yet I can’t change how I feel.
“So what’s next? Am I supposed to drive you somewhere? I’d really rather not, if I have any say in the matter. But I’ll tell you what . . . I don’t mind letting you use my car. You’ll have to come over here and get into the driver’s seat, though.” I reach over to the door handle, hoping he’ll just let me leave. I’ll jump out and run faster than I’ve ever run before. He won’t even see me, I’ll be such a blur. Like The Flash. Fyoo! Gone-ski! See ya later, suckah!
“I want you to take me to Toni,” he growls.
I put my hands back on the steering wheel and sigh in annoyance. Looking at him, I glare. “Did you do your research?”
“Do my research? What the hell you talking about?” He sounds even more frustrated than he did before.
I hiss out a sigh of annoyance. Like I have time for criminals who fail to do the simplest Google search before perpetrating their crimes.
“Research. It’s basic stuff. Before you go somewhere and point a gun at somebody, and, oh yeah, take a hostage in a vehicle, don’t you think it might make sense to find out if I actually know anything at all about this so-called Toni person? Or hey! Here’s an idea! Maybe you could have just waited for him to show up!”