I guess I’ll be upfront here: I’m pretty much a complete stranger to violence.
I grew up in a safe, relatively quiet community in Northern California, I’ve never been in a real fight, nor were there any domestic disputes in my family or friends’ families. When I consider it, I’m lucky I’ve never had to witness any of the violent, traumatic scenes I’ve only seen on TV and in movies. There is one instance, however, that’s always stuck in my mind.
Two years ago, I was wandering around town late one night with two buddies from high school, you know, the kind of thing where you’re bored and hopelessly unsatisfied with your hometown (even if it is supposed to be like the eighth-safest city in the country or something to that effect).
We pulled up to a familiar park a little after midnight where we planned to walk around, probably talk by the jungle gym, tire of that, and go home to hit the hay. We barely even made it out of the parking lot when two men emerged from the shadows and walked over to us.
They stopped us and asked why we were in their park. Their territory. Huh? This is a park next to a private elementary school in Sunnyvale. Who do you think you are?
“You guys bang?” one of them asked. I was confused. What? Uh, no. My friend said later it’s street for, ‘Are you in a gang?’
“Are you guys dealing?” they asked.
I’m immediately thinking, “Great, these guys are trying to start trouble. They’re joking around – they’re jerks. Just brush it off and keep walking.”
But they wouldn’t move out of our way. They kept their ground and despite us saying no, we’re not in a gang, we’re just going to the swings, we don’t want to start anything; they kept the questions coming and got increasingly intimidating. My friends started to get push back and act sarcastic – to not take these guys seriously. I started to get a bad feeling.
I noticed one of the men was fiddling with something in his hand so I looked down. Next to his pocket, slightly under his jacket, he was twirling a switchblade. I silently looked at the other guy who had his hands in his pockets. I thought I saw him feeling something in there and immediately the words ‘gun,’ ‘knife,’ ‘jump,’ ‘run,’ and ‘get out’ came to mind. I didn’t know what to do. Were these guys going to jump us? How do we fight back? How do we get out of this? This is bad.
My friends hadn’t looked down and they kept talking with the guys. The conversation was turning quicker, more hostile, and I spoke up.
“Guys, forget it, let’s just go. It doesn’t matter. Let’s go.”
I started stepping back, figuring they’d trust me, take my cue, get my hint, and walk away too. They didn’t. They gave me a look that said, “What are you doing? Stay here.” I kept eyeing the blade.
“I said let’s go! Guys! Let’s go, c’mon.”
I kept stepping back as the four of them watched me. My friend’s still didn’t see the knife and in my head, the only way to avoid anything more was by going back to our cars. They didn’t get it.
I kept prodding at my friends, hoping they would understand I’d seen something, and eventually they let it go. They started walking back, too, and the men walked back into the park. While we were walking back to the cars I asked if they’d seen the switchblade.
“No. They had a knife?”
They were too hotheaded and quick to stop and look at the situation. They joked and said, “Oh yeah, like what? They were totally going to stab us, sure. Okay.” Their reaction bothered me and I wanted to drop it. I didn’t think they understood that, yes, that could’ve escalated and we could’ve been hurt. That that’s the kind of thing you hear about on the news.
There was a fire station down the block so we stopped and knocked on the door, figuring it’d be the right thing to do, to let someone know there were two probable gang members with a knife in the park. No one answered the door, and after trying again and waiting a few minutes, we left.
I was just glad no one got hurt, and to this day I wonder whatever happened to those two guys. Maybe I’ve seen them since, at the supermarket or across the light at an intersection, the two of us silently going about our day, unaware of our shared history. Maybe they actually did stab someone. Maybe they got caught in a drug trade and were taken in. I don’t know. Maybe they never did anything like that again and turned their lives around. Maybe.
AOK’s partnership with the NY Peaceweek 2012 (starting tomorrow through the 22nd) got me thinking about this story, three years later. I thought of how my friends and I were lucky and how others aren’t. I couldn’t imagine getting stabbed or being involved in any sort of public or private violence. I’m sorry that so many people haven’t been the recipients of peace but instead, are the victims of violence.
NY Peaceweek has it right, ‘peace is a LIFE style.’
