When You Almost Get Stabbed II

His station was on 14th and 6th avenue, mine was on 14th and 7th avenue. It’s funny how memory can be so vivid and so vague for the same event. I remember we were talking, I do not remember about what. Until it happened. And everything became super focused. I became hyper aware.

This is what happened. Don't ask me how, because I couldn't tell you. I would not even be able to tell you why. Truth is, we’ve crossed this street so many dozens of times even at this hour, that this was a little bit of a shock. Not at the time though. My evolutionary survival instincts, passed down by humans who had to live in the Great Wilderness thousands of years ago, my survival instincts that are a hereditary gift, they kicked in. my brain, all my energy was focused on that one thing. My ears felt red, warm.

We crossed the street, to get now between university and 5th avenue. A few steps in, and a man walks in beside us. We keep talking, because as most New Yorkers can attest, or will practice, you ignore street hawkers. And a street hawker he was. I ignored his offer first of weed, then cocaine, as did my friend, the birthday boy. I was closer to the road, my friend was to my left, the drug peddler was to his left. The lights were dim.

We ignored him, and kept on walking. It was immediate. My reaction, my survival instincts being flipped on. Faster than a bulb glows after the switch is flicked. The brain is a powerful thing. We do not appreciate our bodies enough. In case I am hyping this up too much, no, we did not assault him, we did not fend him off. I’ll explain.

After we ignored his offers of drugs, he said one sentence that he would repeat for the next, what seemed like forever, “this is a stick-up”. I can not tell you what the street smelled like. I wish i could. Nothing. I did not need that sense, so my brain shut it off. Everything was about my sight, possible escape routes, or plans, sound, just his voice, his steps on the pavement, slow, steady. Everything was super-focused. No, not everything, just the things I needed. Not many thoughts crossed my mind. Just the ones I needed.

We should run across the road. Traffic will stop. 

“This is a stick up.” we kept walking, he walked beside us. His jeans were tattered, his shoes loud. I didn’t dare to look directly at his face for fear of aggravating him. What was working was working. So far we had not been stabbed. So far we had not been shot. “This is a stick up.”

 He probably won't follow. But will Venkat run.

“This is a stick-up. Give me your fifties, give me your blue hundreds, give me everything.”

Will we run fast enough.