The absence of freedom (10-5-17)

The absence of freedom:

Being a victim of theft is hard. It’s even harder when the theft is not outside in the world somewhere but instead at home. I can’t help but think of the saying; “too close to home”. This was closer than that. It was home. If you missed my post on Saturday, someone broke into my building’s basement and then smashed the door to my storage locker where my bike is usually kept and stole my most valuable possession; a $329 comfort bike with additions and modifications that had made it the best bike I ever had. It had everything I wanted/needed on it. I couldn’t have been happier with that bike and although I only had it for 6 months, it left a lasting impression on me.

Since the theft was discovered I’ve been on edge, jittery. My nerves have been in overdrive. I spent the first day trembling, both with rage and anxiety. There was fear… so much fear. I was afraid of what I would do to the person who stole it if I saw them. I was afraid of the thought of my life without that bike. I was afraid of being more confined to my apartment, a place that no longer felt safe anymore. I was afraid to go to sleep that night… and the next night… wondering if someone is going to break into my building again. I have nearly nothing left for a thief to steal. He got my pride and joy and he stole other things, many other things. It’s more than a tangible possession. He stole my peace of mind. And I realize it’s just a bike. It can be replaced. It’s not life or death but my bike means a lot to me. In the short term, the stress and damage to my psyche, to my piece of mind is significant. That bike was more than just a method of exercise or a way to get somewhere… it represented freedom. It extended my world in a way that I need. It made me feel I had choices, opportunities. It liberated me. I don’t like to be dependent on people. Now I have to take the bus everywhere. The thought of that alone makes me feel ill. I feel like the thief took so much more than my bike and I hate this person so much. A person I’ve never met and never will meet, I hate him. I want to hurt him in ways that Marcellus Wallace would classify as medieval.

My world view walks a thin line. Some days the idiots chip away and I feel pessimistic about the world, about humanity. Other days people do remarkable things that give me hope. Lately it’s more the former than the latter and when the awful things actually happen to you, the feelings are so much stronger. For all of Saturday and most of Sunday I was basically of the mindset of “fuck everyone”. I’ve never hurt anybody. When I’m out in the world, I hold doors for people, help whenever I can, try to be a good person. Why do people do awful things to me? I feel like I’m playing this game of life by rules that other folks don’t follow. I’ve had 2 bikes stolen in the last 7 months. I’ve been jobless for 4 months. I don’t have anything. I don’t have anything but this growing darkness inside of me. I’ve done everything I can to suppress it my whole life. My fiery temper, my desire for justice and revenge. It’s better that I don’t know who stole my bike. I’m afraid of what I would do if I found out. There are decades of pain and rage that have built up. I‘ve swallowed them. I don’t know how to let them go. They only get released when justice is served but when it’s not, those feelings remain. I haven’t been in a real fight since I was 16 years old in high school. That fight scared me. I picked up a guy and threw him with such force and savagery and then pounced on him, grabbed his head and locked him up. His life was literally in my hands. I could have killed him. I could have snapped his neck in seconds. Thankfully I caught myself before the teachers arrived and I let him go. Afterwards I thought about what I did, what I was capable of. I did what I’ve always done; I was minding my own business. But sometimes that’s not good enough. There are shitty people out there, evil people too and those people will force your hands. After I felt the power of my rage, I began to understand why I needed to control it. From that point on I decided I would not fight, I would not show that part of me ever again if I could help it. In that regard, I have succeeded. I have been held up at gunpoint, attacked, threatened and have had many things happen to me in the 25 years since then. I’ve been able to keep the darkness at bay. I’ve been upset, emotional but not out of control. It’s not easy.

I know it’s just a bike, but this was my bike, taken from where I live and I feel violated. The thought of being violated this way, my second bike stolen in 7 months, fills me with rage. What would I do if I saw my bike, if someone was riding it? I find myself staring at every bike I see. Each one comes into view with incredible curiosity followed by extreme jealousy. When they first catch my eye I get scared and excited, wondering if they are riding my bike. Then after I’ve stared them down and confirm that their bike is their own, I become somber. That’s when the loss arrives. I envy them for having the freedom to go for a ride. I feel like I’ve been cheated. But do you know what’s worse than feeling cheated? The feeling of being cheated and then someone kicking you when you’re down.

Let’s move to the day after I discovered my bike was stolen.

I received a friend request from someone I didn’t know. He also posted on my stolen bike facebook post that was shared in the Buffalo Stolen Bike group writing; “I know who got it”. I quickly accepted his friend request and messaged him. My faith in people was on the way to being restored. This stranger was going to help me! I looked at his FB page… pictures of his significant other and a child, real posts- okay this seems like the profile of a real person. I was also able to ascertain that he was 18-19 years old so I had to be ready for the young-speak… meaning; slang, abbreviations, text language and expressions. I asked the kid if he had information. He told me it was a Mexican guy from Hertel Avenue who did it. Okay, did he know more? He told me he had a name and address. I asked if he could share that information and he replied; “Yes”. I waited a few minutes waiting for him to do just that and there was no reply. Finally I asked him how I can get him to tell me that info and he told me it “has a price”. My heart sank. Really? He posted on my stolen bike post and in it I did mention how broke I was. Was this guy just messing with me? Was he the thief himself? To humor him I asked him how much his price was. He answered “$30. And I’ll go wit u to get him.” This sent my mind racing. He’ll go with me to get him? What is going on here?

When I was a kid on the lower west side, I wasn’t the most street savvy dude but I learned to recognize many set ups and most cons. This didn’t feel right. I would go with this kid I don’t know to confront a thief that he knows? That seemed very dangerous for me. I asked him how I could trust he was on the level not to mention how I could get my bike back. He replied that he’d go with me right now if I didn’t believe him. That hardly made me feel better about it. He told me this thief also stole his phone. I wasn’t sure I was buying this. I mean, why wouldn’t he call the police? If the guy took his phone and he knew how to find him? I politely thanked the kid and told him I didn’t have any money nor could I go for an impromptu visit to potentially see a guy who broke into my basement, smashed my storage locker door and stole my property. I would need 3 things to go on that ride. 1-a bulletproof vest, 2-a gun and 3-half a bottle of Jack.

As the night went on I was processing the conversation that was had and wondering how honest, if at all this kid was. I think he sensed my doubt. He told me he wasn’t lying and that he had proof. Okay, what proof? He quickly replied that he had the name and address. I asked him; “Don’t you think we should get the police involved?” He surprisingly agreed. I wasn’t expecting that. I thought the mere mention of the police would scare this kid off. He told me it wasn’t right that this guy was stealing people’s stuff. I agreed. I told him that I’d have the money and we’d take care of this tomorrow. He’d get back his phone and me, my bike. He was cool with it. I was anything but cool. I couldn’t sleep again that night as I was running over everything that was said, wondering if this kid was really trying to help or if he was affiliated with or the thief himself. I’d have some answers tomorrow.

The next morning I got an early start, took a bus to the bank and got out a little bit of money. I contacted the kid, told him I was ready to move on this guy. Now I was going to find out if he was serious. He told me he was in but that he couldn’t do it until he got out of school. I asked him when that would be. “3:30”. That was several hours I’d have to wait, meanwhile this guy could potentially sell my bike or some of its’ parts. I asked the kid if he couldn’t just give me the info, so I could move on him with the police. I promised him that if his information was credible I would get him the money. He refused to tell me anything. He said he didn’t trust that I’d pay him. I didn’t think it was fair that I was supposed to trust him but he couldn’t trust me. At this point, I didn’t think this kid was interested in helping me. He was interested in the money and perhaps setting me up. I had been through a rough few days and now I was playing games. My emotions were wearing thin. I had come to the decision that if he went to the police with me, then I’d know he was serious about catching this dude and actually helping me. That was my litmus test. The police would prove his legitimacy.

He told me he would meet me at the police station when he got out of school at 3:30. Since he told me this guy lived on Hertel, I figured okay, there’s a police station on Hertel. Let’s meet there. Waiting the next several hours until it was almost go time was so hard. I walked up Hertel ave. I looked at every porch, up the side of every house wondering if I’d see my bike. Wouldn’t that be great… to find it without this kid and his financial demands? I walked through housing projects; up and down the most rundown parts of Hertel Ave. No luck. Despite seeing nothing, it probably helped to burn off some of the anxiety and nervous energy that filled me since I found out that my bike was gone… plus I had a lot of time to kill.

I arrived at the police station at 2:45. I sat out in front. It was a gorgeous day. The only thing that could have made it better was getting my bike and my life back with the thief getting arrested. I waited until it was a few minutes before 3:30 and I messaged the kid. I asked him if he was ready. He said he’d be there in a few. Then he asked me which bus was needed to get there. Where was he? He was on South Park. Ugh. If that’s where he actually was it was going to take a while before he could get to the police station on Hertel. I told him which buses to take. He said he was coming. So I sat there. Again, I knew if this kid showed up and provided the information, it would be worth it. I would have paid $30 to get my bike back, if it was unharmed and how it was when it left. I wasn’t going to pay if this kid provided information that was incorrect, bull or if it was too late and my bike was sold or gone.

The South Park bus and the Elmwood both run pretty frequently at this time of day. Those are the buses I told him to take. I began to question if this kid was actually coming. I asked once again if he could give me the name and address because the clock was ticking and it was going to take him at least an hour to arrive. I promised to pay him. He again refused. He said we have to go together. He said he had to get there and “see the money” before he revealed anything. I was on the brink of pulling out. Now he was inferring that he needed the money first before we went to see this guy. That wasn’t going to happen. But I played along in the context of our conversation to see if I could get something out of him. I asked; “So you aren’t going to say anything until after you get paid? How do I know the information is legit?” He responded; “Cuz I will go to the house with you. And talk to him normal so the cops can get him.” Now it sounded like he knew the guy and wanted to talk to him before the police were involved. That wasn’t going to work. Who’s to say this kid didn’t just go into his own house “talk” to the guy who I’d never see and then come out and tell me the bike was already sold. Oh well, sorry about your bike and $30. Maybe the kid was going to lead me into an ambush of some kind. I couldn’t trust him at all. I probably trusted him far more than I should have, pretty much since the moment he told me the information had “a price”.

One hour and twenty minutes later I figured this kid had to be getting close. I messaged him to check on his progress and asked which bus he had to take again. What the fuck?!?! An hour and twenty minutes and apparently he hadn’t gone anywhere. It was then I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt he wasn’t going to meet me at the police station. I was also now convinced he was involved somehow. I told him to forget it. I unfriended him and haven’t spoken to him since. I had my bike stolen and then I had this jerk kick me when I was down. I hoped this kid would help restore my faith in people. Instead now I’m even more cynical, more skeptical, more untrusting and bitter. The absence of freedom is a tough road to travel on… especially when you don’t have wheels.