Split Second Transformation

Memorial Day Weekend, I think as I sit down on my front stoop in my purple Novant Health folding chair, excited that I am about to start reading Stephen King’s If It Bleeds. It took a minute, but I finally got the dogs settled on their respective leashes hooked to the cargo space latches in the back of my RAV4. Now, I get to spend the next few hours outside reading and enjoying the first nice day since the entire COVID-19 pandemic started.

Sun shining, light breeze is blowing, dogs are resting in the grass under the shadow made from having Yota’s cargo door open. And even though it is loud with all of the kids playing in their respective yards, I am at peace and quickly get lost in my book. Until Copper, my step-son’s dog, started his hound-dog howling at the unfortunate little girl from up the street. Unbeknownst to her, Copper had been asleep in the shade closest to the sidewalk and it was the rattle from the scooter humming down the sidewalk that startled the dog, causing him to bark.

Copper’s protest at being woken up caused the little girl to scream and throw down her scooter in the grass near my Toyota. “It’s okay,” I holler at her as she runs back up the sidewalk to her house two mailboxes away, and was going to finish with, “he’s on a leash,” but her short screams of panic did not allow her to hear anything I had to say. 

“Yeah, you better hope that dog didn’t bite her,” I heard someone yelling. What the hell is he talking about? “You better keep that dog in your yard, bitch,” I heard a second voice scream. I walked from around my vehicle to look up the street to where the little girl had run. The yard was full of kids, the oldest being what looked to be a twelve year old boy. “Yeah, I’m talking to you bitch. Keep your fucking dog in your yard.”

For a minute I thought I was back in Georgia and over at my ex-brother-in-law’s house. “My dog is in my yard you punk ass kid. You got a problem with it, go get your mama or shut the fuck up.” There went my peaceful afternoon. The kind of afternoon I spent twenty years of dreaming about. One that I could actually enjoy without having to turn into Medusa, as my son called me when I was angry because, he said, my curls turned into snakes and I could kill anyone with my death stare. 

No sooner than me turning my back on the rude, undisciplined kids, I heard a woman’s voice screaming at the top of her lungs, “Bitch, I’m going to come down there and kick your skinny little ass, yo dog be bitin’ an chasin’ my kids for the last time.” 

I will admit that I was speechless. For the first five seconds. Or however long it took for me to turn around and see what reminded me of the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man as she stomped toward me. Her head, the size of a basketball covered with bleach blonde hair frizzy and wild, sat on top of a neck that was made invisible thanks to her four other chins. Her shoulders, broad and alternated, up and down, depending on which leg she picked up. Arms so short and a torso so round that it looked like she could not touch the tips of her fingers together, even if her life depended on it. And her legs, oh my goodness, were barely noticeable under the hanging belly/boobs (she had dressed in a halter top and yoga shorts of all things) but they were there, none-the-less, and wobbling her through the flowers of the neighbor’s yard separating my house from hers. And for some reason, her accusing my dogs of being aggressive pissed me off. Just the entire scene with the disrespectful kids being allowed to speak that way, much less toward an adult, pissed me off so much so that I forgot all about the new person I had become when I finally escaped my former husband as I seamlessly transformed back into the monster I once was. “Let me tell you something you fucking worthless piece of shit,” I screamed and felt horrible about being so ugly but do not accuse my dogs of something they did not do, “my dog didn’t come in your yard. Get your shit straight before you come any closer ‘cause I will put you down.” 

By this time the street in both directions was filled with people. And those who were not outside, were looking out their front door and peering through the curtains of the front windows. I can only imagine what they saw, about fifteen people, arranging in all ages and from three different ethnic groups all screaming at the top of their lungs at me. And me, little ole’ five foot, three inches, one hundred twenty-five pound me. All alone but screaming at the top of my lungs like a raging lunatic. Still holding my brand new book in my left hand and exchanging obscenities with all of them, I marched up to the top of my yard where my mailbox meets the sidewalk.

Trotting toward me was a man, not very tall, about five foot seven, I am assuming Mexican based on his accent, and probably in construction based on the thickness of his build, his body type being the kind that is not overweight but solid, like a mature tree trunk. The expression he had on his face was one that shouted he knew exactly how to put a woman in her place. “Bitch I was trying to be nice, but now that’s not going to happen,” he screamed at me.  

I bent over and picked up the little girl’s scooter with my right hand and chunked it at him, daring him to come any closer, and wishing I had used both hands to throw the fairly heavy metal toy, maybe it would have gone farther. “Keep your fucking kids out of my yard and there will be no more damn problem,” I said calmly and as a matter of fact. 

After three more steps, he reached the scooter. Never taking his eyes off of me, he bent over and picked up his daughter’s toy. Without saying another word, he walked backwards, up the sidewalk back to his yard. I do not know what changed his mind about physically attacking me, or if anything did, or if he was even thinking about doing anything more than intimidating me with his presence.  All I know is that something within me changed in the matter of a split second. From tranquility when reading my book to raging lunatic when defending my dogs, to calm serenity when I threw the scooter out of my yard and at the man who appeared to want to harm me. Whatever diffused the explosive situation, I am thankful that my “aggressive dogs” stayed silently cowering in the back of my vehicle and let me take care of the situation.