One day I walked home a different way.
I turned off Dersey street into a poorer neighborhood. There were vacant lots filled with garbage. A man in the middle of the street was yelling.
He was short and had thin black hair. He was wearing a white t shirt, stained white pants, and black sandals. In one arm he was holding a machete, the kind you might use for yard work, and in his other arm he held a little girl. She might have been three or four years old. Her head was on his shoulder. She was sucking her thumb.
The man turned his attention to me and continued his tirade.
“He’s not getting nothing from me,” he said. “I’m not a bitch. Nobody controls me.”
“What happened?”
He gestured toward me with the machete.
“Fuck you. Shut the fuck up. What, do you think you matter? Social worker looking ass. Get the fuck away from me. Pedophile ass. This is my daughter. I’m keeping her safe. Let me protect my daughter. Get the fuck away from me.”
“I just asked what happened. You were yelling and she seems upset.”
“The fuck does it matter to you if I’m yelling? Stop looking at my daughter. Asshole. Freak.”
“You’re holding a machete.”
“The fuck does it matter to you what I’m holding? You’re dumb. Now you want to get stupid. You’re getting stupid now. You’re not smarter than me. No one’s smarter than me.”
He waved the machete around in the air. The little girl’s head bobbed as he thrashed.
I reached into my pocket to call TEIWD (Trauma and Empathy Informed Welfare District) but the man saw me reaching for me phone.
“Don’t you fucking call anyone. Just walk on. Walk.”
The little girl started crying loudly, and the man took some of her hair in his mouth and pulled it by throwing his head back. She screamed.
I rushed over to stop him.
“You’re hurting her! Stop.”
“You’re hurting her,” he said to me. “Leave. It doesn’t affect you. My life doesn’t affect you. You’re really not as smart as you think.”
The little girl closed her eyes when I got near. I heard her softly mewling into the man’s shoulder. I noticed that she had blonde hair and pale skin. She looked nothing like the man.
“You want to know what I think?” I said.
“It doesn’t matter,” said the man.
A plane flew over us. We were only about a mile away from the airport, so the plane was low and it made a huge noise. We both looked up and watched as it passed. When the noise subsided, the man’s demeanor changed. He looked tired. He started shuffling over to the sidewalk.
I was going to tell him that I thought he needed help. There were assistance programs he could utilize. If he was struggling with addiction, there were people that could help him. If he needed help, he could get it.
“Let me tell you something,” I said.
“No,” he said.
I walked home.