Book excerpt part 3.

“Well Mr. Dotson, the only thing left to do is get you home.”  Officer Tibourne said to me in a sigh of relief.  I knew he had to be probably as tired as I was, and glad that the ‘hard part’ was over.  “Great!” I was pretty enthusiastic by now about everything.  I thought things were turning toward getting better.  “When do I get to go back to school?” I wanted to know, I thought after all of the interrogation by detectives and counselors, and police officers, we could just drop this whole thing.  I wanted a little bit of dignity.  “It’s not up to me kid.  If it were though, I’d let you go back tomorrow.”  And there it was.  Another little glimmer of hope.

The ride back to my home with Officer Tibourne was filled with friendly conversation, more talk about cars than anything else.  Very little was spoken about the severity of the consequences I was facing.  He knew I didn’t need a lecture.  He knew I wasn’t about to have a realization of a life lesson or become enlightened or anything.  I just needed the right people to believe me.  “Do you have anymore of your writing at your house?” Tibourne asked me.  Of course I did, where else would I keep it?  I wrote poetry, and journals, and online blurbs, and haikus, and short stories, and long stories, and everything else.  Upon giving him this information, he asked if he could read some.  “Sure.” I exclaimed, after a mild hesitation.  My heart stopped for a second, and I couldn’t breathe.  The shiver my mom placed in my spine the week before returned with a vengeance, I had suppressed it (or maybe repressed it) since then.  I tried hard not to think about it.  Either way it was back, and staring me in the face.

It wasn’t because anything I had written down could be used against me.  It was because everything I had written down, with the exception of what I had posted online, was written for me.  Everyone writes differently when there is no audience to judge them.  Everyone writes with a different tone when they know they are the only person who will ever read it.  They already raped and pillaged my journal.  They invaded the deepest inner-workings of my brain and dissected them in front of who knows how many people.  I was exposed, and analyzed hard.

By this point in my life, I had earned my first degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do and Combat Hapkido.  I was, and still am very proud of that accomplishment.  My bedroom at my house made that vividly apparent.  I loved in the basement, and all the way down the stairs were the different levels of belts I had progressed through, next to the diplomas I earned every time I reached a new level.  There was a sign my daddy and I had anchored into the wall that I hand painted on a block of wood.  It read “The Dojo” in big white and black script, underneath both the American and Korean flag.  It really attracted your eyes to it when you were going down to my room.  In the room itself were all of the weapons I had been trained to use, to demonstrate with, and to teach classes in.  I had five different bo-staffs in one corner, all for different purposes.  One was my very first bo-staff ever, another was made of rattan (a very flexible wood) for class, one was made of heavy wood, its nick name was ‘the tree trunk’.  It leaned against its counterpart, a very lightweight bo-staff made for tournament competitions, and finally a short five foot bo-staff I used solely for demonstration purposes.  The mantle I adopted when I moved into the room was lined with various throwing knives and stars.  They rested at the feet of all the trophies I had earned in my first three years of tournaments.  On that same wall hung two ornately decorated, yet simple samurai swords.  One was given to me after my first tournament, and the other was given to me after my graduation to Green Belt.  On one side of the swords hung my competition Kamas (sickle-like weapons), which I bought myself, and on the other side were a pair of Sais.  I was proficient in using Sais, but mainly bought them because eBay was the hot new thing, and I used to watch Raphael use them every Saturday morning on the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles cartoon.  Nunchucks were my favorite weapon though.  They were by far my specialty.  They were the ones I used and enjoyed the most.  Over the years I had acquired no less than twenty sets.  I had foam covered practice sets, little sets for speed, big heavy sets for workouts, sets that were decorative, and sets that were almost destroyed from over-use.  All of them were scattered around my room.  So you can see why I was a little worried about bringing a Police Officer, who was evaluating my level of threat, into my room.  It still makes me chuckle to this day, that Officer Tibourne didn’t care at all about any of the weapons.  No, weapons I was trained thoroughly in, that were designed in different ways to bring harm to people weren’t the issue.  Instead, Officer Tibourne instead wanted to confiscate a folder full of poetry I wrote because clearly that was the bigger threat.

On the back page of my journal, I had written down a list of peoples names.  Yes, this is the journal that had been plundered by the schools administration team.  All of the names I wrote down were names of my friends, family, and acquaintances.  I wrote them all down with the intention of sending each one of them a Christmas card, because after all.. ‘Tis The Season.  That well intentioned gesture came back to screw me to the wall hard, with one leg up in the air via the Prince William County School Board, and their kiss-ass, dick faced errand boy; My principle, Mr. Dalleck.  He misconstrued it as a hit list, full of people I wanted to kill.  At this point, all of my hatred and resentment was directed at Vicky.  Her name was not on the list.  My friend Tony and his twin sister Ashley’s names were though.  They were the ones who gave me rides to school and back every day.  Ross, Billy, and Brent’s were too, and we went to football games and Hooter’s every Friday night.  John and Andrew’s were and they were my best friends back then, and Andrew still is to this day.  Derek, Chris, Sarah, and Kyle shared classes with me and also helped me study, along with Anne.  All of whom were on the list.  Despite them all being really good friends with me, and proclaiming that to the school board, Mr. Dalleck still deemed it necessary to pull each and every one of them out of their classes.  He did this for a few reasons.  He did it in order to have two police officers and a psychologist interrogate them for hours to find out what I was like outside of school.  He did it to find out if I was capable of actually “pulling a Columbine”.  But mostly, he did it to piss me the hell off.

14 Responses to “Book excerpt part 3.”

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