Real Respects Real

After meeting a friend for dinner and playing hopscotch in Central Park with two strangers on my way home the other night, I decided I wasn’t quite ready for bed.

I stopped in at the restaurant below my apartment for a night cap.

The place was fairly crowded for such a late night. Eventually, I was approached by a very attractive man. (“Excuse me, miss, may I join you for some humble conversation?”) We got to chatting. He shared with me he is Puerto Rican, has three beautiful children and is a former Sports Illustrated model. He is also a drug dealer and gang member.

“I’ve been shot twice!” He exclaimed.

“Tell me the story!” I exclaimed, right back, and he lifted his pant leg to show me his still-swollen kneecap, and the crude scar from the hole on the top of his right hand. Both shooting incidents were gang-related. His friend stitched up his hand; he had major surgery on his knee.

“So I have to ask you,” I said. “I was held up at gunpoint once, — in LA — but I didn’t get shot. I told the guy to fuck off. Looking back, I think that was probably a stupid thing to do, right?”

He looked me straight in the eye.
“Nah, man. They wouldn’t mess with you, because you’re real. And Real respects Real.”

One thought on “Real Respects Real

  1. Vera says:

    Thank you for your honest, heart-wrenching, f-bomb laced story. I enjoyed every experience, every enlightenment, every real piece of you. I’ve read every post from beginning to end because, you see, I wanted to start a blog entitled, “The Christian Girl’s Guide to Divorce.” After googling my incredibly creative blog title, I sadly found out someone had already thought of it. YOU! So I was intrigued, naturally, to read your insights. My, my. You are talented and thought provoking, indeed. My angle for my blog was so entirely different than your story, but still painful. I haven’t moved forward with my blog for the simple reason I’m still living my experience. You have inspired me, however, to use my story for His Glory. So that’s where I’m starting. At the top of a clean word document on my Mac. So thank you, from the bottom of my fucking heart, because it’s ok to cuss when you’re getting a divorce after 10 years of giving your everything to someone who really didn’t deserve it. And if you’re ever in the LA area, I’d love to meet you. (Just in case you’re a little creeped out here, I’m your average, white, small town, straight girl who was raised with ridiculously conservative Baptist fundamentalism who also married an asshole.)
    You. Rock.

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