Have you ever typed something while the barrel of a glock is pushed against your occiput?
This is my first time.
15 years ago, me and another customer pulled up in the lot of Wal-Mart. We parked bumper to bumper. A young woman got out and started for the entrance. As I was walking pass her vehicle I saw a child in the backseat sleeping. I yelled out, “Mam! Mam! Your baby!” She graciously thanked me and said she forgot her son was in the car because of his taciturn. 21 minutes into their shopping, in the back of the store, near the electronics section, for a few moments, she left her cart unattended. A basket her son was sitting in with her purse next to him. The inquisitive toddler reached into it, unzipped a special pocket for a concealed weapon and accidentally shot his mother in the head, instantly killing her. I heard, what I thought was a roof collapse, in the food section.
Over a decade later, that boy’s father got tired of lying to his son when he questioned where his mom was and why she never came home. He decided his son was old enough to know the truth. His father showed him the video surveillance he obtained from the Sheriff’s office after investigators ruled the incident was an accident. The video showed that heartbreaking moment, but the reason I’m sitting here with a gun pressed to the back of my head is because it also showed the parking lot footage. A 17-year-old man, who was once that 2-year-old little boy, is on the other side of this gun.
Before I die, I want the world to know the truth. I am responsible for Victoria Miller’s death. Not her son! I am the one who should have lived a life of confusion and anger these last 15 years. Not her son! I am the one who should have been lied to over and over and told it wasn’t my fault knowing it GOT DAMN WAS. Not her son! If I had just minded my business that day. The weather was 46 degrees on March 30, 2000. Not hot enough to have killed this baby. Mrs. Miller was just going in to get a few things. She wouldn’t even have needed a shopping cart. She would have been in the 10 items or less lane. I will pay for this with my life. And I will. To my family and friends, I love you!!! I hope my death teaches you to MIND YOUR GOT DAMN BUSINESS. Goodbye!
Uhh … I am being told, I am being told by the young man I can be saved. I can be saved. Okay. He says all I have to do is, is press control-alt-delete on this wireless keyboard and turn on the TV and put it on the local news.
He told me to close my eyes and count to a hundred. When I got to the century mark I waited on further instruction. It was this long scary silence. I didn’t see his reflection in the computer and looked over my shoulder. He was gone! He’s gone! And I’m still alive!!! There are skid marks in my lawn. He is gone! He really just left my house? I’m still here. No one died. Me or him. I can’t imagine how the last 15 years of his life must’ve been. Once he finally knew the truth it must’ve been hard to accept and he needed to transfer responsibility. But something’s not right. I feel funny. I should be dead. His anger. His aggressiveness. The way the gun was moving on the back of my head, I could tell he was nervous. How did his shaky finger manage to not jerk the trigger? Why did he bring this external keyboard and have me type on it? I’m typing on my laptop’s keyboard now. And why did he have me press control-alt-delete and he knows I have a Mac? Did he have me turn on the TV so I wouldn’t hear him leave?
There’s breaking news.
A car exploded.
I’m sure there are 100’s of White Nissan Maxima’s in the city. But this car wasn’t on the road; it’s in a driveway. Houses can look the same. Yeah, there are plenty homes with a Flintstone car in the front yard, and a little red corvette, and a see-saw, and a garden that looks like a bed with pillows and blankets on it. The reporter said the address. Is it possible, is it possible to have the same address as someone else who lives in your city? What am I seeing, like what is this? I don’t understand what’s happening.
Curious. I pressed control-alt-delete on the wireless keyboard again and this time the house exploded. I’m watching the fucking live shot on the news right now. Frozen. Only my heart and my fingers can move at this point.
I take my eyes off the TV and looked at what he told me to title this post. That’s when it hit me. He wasn’t talking about himself; he was talking about ME!!!
He got even.
I accidentally killed my mom.