When you live to see the sunrise, there's usually going to be a story to tell. Even being the hack writer that I am, this is a truism that I tend to agree with. It just seems to be the case.
For most of the night, I figured I'd come into my little space here and regale you with tales of other people's drunken debauchery. I'd begin slowly, describing the fairly lame and uneventful evening that passed before I took a shower and left for downtown Macon. You'd know that Hoodrat is contracting me to do illustrative work for his bourgeoning design company and that Juliet is mostly fine. And for the sake of my own ego, I'd throw in that I was called a couple times to make haste for Liz Reed's where not only my company was desired but also a story I'd written about events two weeks ago.
Then being the master of the written word that I am, I'd share the jumble of sights and sounds set before me once I made it to the bar. You'd hear that Riddle is now a local celebrity officially recognized by a full-length profile in the newspaper, and how Boss made it her business to arrange and frame the article for posterity. An attempt one can only guess is flirtatious and cute. I'd let you know that Stick 2000 is promoting the GG Allin way of life and that I danced furiously once I heard the strains of U Can't Touch This. For a brief moment last night, it was Hammertime. From there, I'd planned on making some comment about how my dancing and my love making are frighteningly similiar. That I can give it everything I have for about five minutes and then I need to rest and drink water. Of course, I'd include Sweet T's night of passing out drunk everywhere she could, and how I only saw her for a total of 25 seconds before her body began rebelling against all that alcohol. And how in the midst of it all, Round was being properly bid farewell by all who love him. His ticket to Nashville has been punched and though we're sad to see him go, it was more than enough fun getting to say goodbye.
More than likely other little tidbits would have worked their way into it. Insights and trivia. But there isn't time for that because something truly horrible happened in the end.
A man I will refer to only as Mr. Virus, a friend for over a decade now and owner of our favorite hangout, was shot last night standing outside his establishment. And from what we gather, it was for doing nothing more than trying to protect a couple of his friends from harrassment by a couple of bums.
When the loud pop sounded, it could have been a car backfiring. That or the potato gun the boys have been know to play with. Virus staggered and with what looked like a smile on his face said, "I've been shot." Dumb joke and we all went back to what we were doing. Or at least, most of us.
Virus walked a few feet inside the bar and then back out, I saw him lift his shirt revealing his chest covered in blood. Frozen still thinking somehow it was a joke, I just watched him fall. Fade to black, silence and confusion.
I wasn't the only person kneeling down beside him. Someone had already ripped off their shirt to put pressure on the wound and several were making calls to 911. Round and Riddle leapt to his side screaming and tearing at the air as if they could wrangle the pain away. Others were stunned and those who weren't in complete shock were in tears. That's how everything looked when the sight and sound came back.
Helping reposition Virus so that the blood wouldn't rush to the gun shot and checking vital signs. Applying pressure to the entry and exit wounds. Shoving people back so they'd stop screaming at him, stop slapping him to wake up, and give him room to breathe.
Round, a man with the strength of a bull, was the most distraught. Calming him down was difficult at best, but necessary. He is the single most fiercely loyal person I've met here and a rare, wonderful human being.
The cops and paramedics arrived, quickly whisking our friend away. The cooler heads cleared the bar and locked up. This included me carrying Sweet T -- who is not a tiny, fraile woman -- down a flight of stairs, into my truck and eventually to my couch. Magpie and Carson Mack watched her while I returned to the bar.
There's something I've learned about bad things happening. Do what you can to make people feel better if you can. It isn't much but a well-timed cigarette or wet wipe can mean a lot. I only had to spend a week in Boy Scouts to learn that much.
After giving statements to the detectives, most of us were able to gather at the hospital -- a few had to give statements at the police station.
We soon found out Virus was in stable condition and heading into surgery. His folks politely and indirectly asked us not to stick around so we went outdoors and smoked, talked, comforted.
I left around 5:30am to get Magpie and Mack back to their place. When I dropped them off, the sun was breaking through and instead of going inside, they turned to watch it breach the sky. I pulled the truck out of the parking lot and my CD found the perfect song. Robert Earl Keen "Feels So Good Feelin' Good Again." It was movie magic. Reassuring and grand.
I hit the nearest Kroger to get supplies my passed out comrade may need when she awoke. Excedrine, water, food. I also replenished my cigarette supply and grabbed a paper.
At 7:30am, I called Riddle and he told me Virus just made it through surgery and was expected to be just fine. By 8am, I'd gone to Mom's house to pick up clean towels and a change of clothes. When 9am rolled around, I called to tell Mom I'd be late for Mammaw's birthday party and why.
Having cooked myself something to eat, read the paper, smoked a few cigarettes and gulped a cup of coffee, it was time to rest. Sweet T was on the couch, my brother in his bed and two of his friends in the floor of my room, I tried to get comfortable in the chair. It wasn't possible so I gave the floor a shot. That was better but when I closed my eyes all I could see was the chaos. Keeping my head in crisis isn't hard. I deal with everything but shutting down and moving forward but eventually, it comes back to visit. Visions shifted from the noise and blood to vengeance and blood. Plots and plans. I've never been able to meditate and thusly, clearing my mind this morning was impossible.
I gave up, Sweet T woke up and soon I had her back home. Her keys are in her purse, her purse is in the bar and the bar may or may not be open again tonight.
At the last update, Virus was expected to be in the ICU today and in the hospital for a week. That came down third or fourth hand. Calls to people closer to the situation yielded nothing but voicemail messages. Thing is, I know he'll be fine. There was too much life in his eyes and he's too strong. I'm mostly worried about everyone who loves him. Now that I've gotten that out, I'm going to see if I can find out how they are.
Be good. Love, Chris.
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