I woke up and saw that a thick fog had descended over the neighborhood. I know better than to let a good mist go to waste so I grabbed my camera and I went for a walk.
I had a man pinned down with his face pressed against the asphalt at a barbecue in Georgetown, Washington D.C. – July, 2007 and I was about to spank him in front of 45 people.
EARLIER….
Georgetown in July and August is like living inside of Vick’s Vaporizer with the swamp gas rising in the morning. When you think of D.C., you might think of the Washington Monument, museums, and overly horny politicians, BUT there is another side to the city and it is swampy and forested and that is where Washingtonians live. In fact, every neighborhood in DC looks more like the forest is trying to take the neighborhood back to when the World was young. Georgetown is even more like this because it is rife with ravines, towpaths, canals, and apartment buildings where the back doors look like they open to magical forests.
My apartment building was painted brick in the front and had a backyard area for garbage, barbecues, and a 50 yard long sloped driveway that fed all the way down to the towpath canal. The area was choked with trees and life. During cicada season, you could not see the ground and only heard the satisfying crunches as you made your way to the buses to take you downtown to make your living. I grew up not far from Georgetown and the memories were fresh and remain so today. The memories of my father were with me too- they were etched forever on my forehead, chin, back, and arms.
There had been a bad storm the week before and the city had lost power. I unfortunately had bought an entire month’s worth of beef, chicken, and pork. Without refrigeration, it was all going to spoil; so, I decided to have a barbecue for my entire building and feed the multitudes. People brought beer and wine and, as always, there was a group of people who snuck off to blow weed behind the oak trees. I semi-recognized everyone, but I didn’t know their names. I was chatting with my neighbors and there was a girl about 25 feet away from our conversation. She was from a floor or two above me and she looked like the central casting version of a brown-haired sorority girl and she was beginning to scream at a man I did not recognize. It was then that another storm had come to D.C.- a hurricane – and it had my name.
I was upon them both in a moment and to this day I don’t remember the 25 feet I crossed to get to them. I found out later that as they started arguing, my face went blank as I went to them. I saw him grabbing her breasts and she yelled and hit his hands. I did not know if they were there together or not; so, I asked her: “Do you need help?” She was agitated and said, “Yes, Please.” The distress, pleading, and humiliation on her face filled me with a distilled cold rage that I hadn’t felt since I saw my mother’s helpless face after my father had lost his temper- again.
He tried to get out a whole sentence: “So what are you gonna do Faaaggo…..”
Too late, I had him already off his feet and arching through the air in a controlled body slam crash! He was no weakling; he was at least 5 feet 9 inches and worked out, but I’m a 200 pound Dago and bench press 250 Lbs. with ease. Important side note: If you’re gonna fight, fight. If you’re gonna shoot, shoot. AND if you’re gonna bodyslam a man into Georgetown’s finest asphalt – YOU JUST DO IT – NO TALKING. The air left his lungs. He was lucky his mouth didn’t make contact with the ground or the dental bills would’ve been immense. The 45 people at the barbecue went silent and stared agape at me and this subjugated man.
He tried to speak….”Fuck you…Faaaago….” “Shhhhh….” I said as I chicken-winged his right arm with my right and used my left hand to push down on the side of his face slowly turning it so the sharp pebbles began to dig into the left side of his face. “UGGHHHHHH…” He moaned. “Shhhhh…” I said shaking my head like a didactic parent.
His right eye strained to its corner to look up at me. “I’m going to let you go, but you are going to apologize to her (I turned my head to his victim), everyone here, leave and you will never return.” I said. The girl stood up, took a breath, crossed her arms, and waited for his apology. I turned his head so I could speak clearly. “Fuck you….Whore!” He said. The crowd made a collective wincing – “Ooooooh” The Hurricane arrived.
In a split second, I decided his punishment with this logic: Blood for blood, pain for pain, and in his case: humiliation for humiliation. “I’m gonna do what your Daddy shoulda done. I’m gonna take your pants down and spank your bare ass purple!” I said. He began to studder. “Y-y-y-y-y-y-you… w-w-w-w-w-w wouldn’t.” he said. “Yes, I will.” I replied. Everything was silent. There was no breathing, no crickets, no cicadas, no wind – just the rapt silence of the crowd and the forest herself. I moved my knee to his back and brought my left hand to the waistband of his khaki shorts as I continued to use my right hand to keep pressing his face into the asphalt. I grabbed his waistband firmly and gave it a shake before doing my windup. Everyone inhaled with a collective gasp. The eye of the Hurricane was directly overhead. I began my wind up….. “W-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-wait….” He begged. I paused. “Ok.” He tried to bring air into his lungs. His right eye looked at his victim- “I-I-I’m s-s-s-sorry I grabbed your titties.” “And?” I asked firmly. “A-a-and I’m s-s-s-sorry to all of you and I’ll never come back.” He said. His eye looked at me and everyone else’s eyes looked at me, but they were all looking at the wrong person for the judgement. If they had looked at the right person, it would’ve never happened in the first place. My head turned and I looked directly at Her. Soon, everyone turned to look at her too. My face was passive and I looked at her with my Italian inquisitive eyebrows and then I looked down briefly at him. His eye had welled with tears as his eye met with hers. My eyes returned to her. She held his fate with the power of the Ancient Queens. She was biting her bottom lip and moving her eyes around with what I was sure was the same expression she had when she took the SATs. The Queen gave a brief nod. I returned it. In one fluid motion, I had him on his feet and gave him a shove to his back. He stumbled then broke out to a full-on sprint. He got 30 yards away and turned back and shouted: “Fuck you, faaago..” I started to move towards him to finish my work and he bolted. The Hurricane had passed. I made a brief sigh, went over to the picnic table, and pointed to the 2-liter Coke and a man met my gaze with his hand gesture saying – Sure– ALL YOURS! I nodded at him, poured, took a swig, got up and went to the door. It was heavy and slammed behind me. I waited a moment and then, I heard – “Did that just fucking happen?!” I shrugged, went back to my apartment, and went to bed.
Living near a creek, we occasionally do get visitors. These fine ducks decided to take a break in our front yard on their way back home. They were enjoying the warm weather.
A few years ago, I was walking around the neighborhood when I realized that someone was watching me.
After saying goodbye to my new friend, I kept walking. A few blocks later, I realized that I was being followed.
As soon as I turned around and looked at him, he ran away.
It’s been years but I still think about the two of them whenever I go for a walk around the neighborhood, the proud cat and the curious dog. I’m glad that they both had a home and happy lives. I’m glad the cat enjoyed staring me down and I hope the dog enjoyed following behind me. Human don’t deserve animals but I’m glad they put up with us.
I stood out on the front porch and watched as the sky went from being blue to being dark and gray in a matter of minutes. That was the year that fall came early and almost all the leaves were gone by the end of October. But just as the leaves fell early, so did the storms arrive ahead of schedule. It rained hard during the afternoon and probably panicked everyone looking forward to spending the night collecting candy.
The rain stopped before evening came and that night, costumed searchers and their parents walked up and down the sidewalks, running up to houses and shouting, “Trick or Treat!” I was alone that Halloween so I dressed up like a cat and handed out candy. Everyone was extra grateful because they knew that if the storm had started just an hour later, there would have been no Halloween that year.
One day, not too long ago, I was walking around the neighborhood with my camera when I came across a deserted house.
I decided that, since I had my camera with me, I might as well explore.
The window were broken and the backdoor was unlocked.
As I walked through the house, it seemed to be deserted but it soon became obvious that someone else had recently been there. The doors were all open. The ceiling fans in the kitchen were still spinning. There was a chair, like the one pictured above, in almost every room of the house. I started to feel uncomfortable so I decided to leave the house. As I stepped back through the backyard, I noticed a pile of bricks lying in the backyard.
As I walked away from the house, I noticed one last thing — the remains of a bicycle in the front yard.
Eventually, someone bought and refurnished the house, fixing the broken windows and, I assume, the broken door as well. I still wonder who owned that bicycle.
One day, I was exploring my town with my camera. I found an alley sitting behind a row of store and I took pictures as the day passed. Today, I look at these pictures and I think about the things that I did not consider while taking them. What is behind the closed doors? How does the difference of an hour change the way a place looks and feels?
A few blocks from my house, there is a historic cemetery, one that is over 150 years old. It is surrounded by a fence. Behind it, there is a bus station. Across the street from it, there is a gymnastics center and several warehouses. Other than the fence and the gravestones, there are no markings and I think most people drive by without ever noticing it.
I first noticed it one day while I was driving to the library. I came back later with my camera and I took some pictures. At first, it was difficult to concentrate with the sound of traffic in the background but the longer I spent standing outside the gates of the cemetery, the less I heard of the traffic.
Later, I learned that the people buried in this cemetery were among the first to build a town on this land. Without these people, who came from across the country, these roads and warehouses and the new gymnastics center would have never had a place to be built.
As I left, I saw an American flag raising over a nearby used car lot. I made sure to get a picture before I went home.
I don’t believe in ghosts but I may have seen one when I was 18.
It was the summer after I graduated high school and I was in Italy, discovering what the world outside of both high school and America looked like. That night, my sisters and I were staying at a hotel in Rome. I had a room to myself. The Vatican was nearby. At two o’clock in the morning, I could still hear the sound of motor scooters roaring past on the streets below my window. I naturally wanted to go outside and see what was happening but I had promised my sisters that I would not leave the hotel and wander around Rome late at night. As they pointed out, I didn’t speak Italian so, if I got lost or into any sort of trouble, there would be no way for me to ask for help. As well, we were visiting the Vatican tomorrow morning. I didn’t have to sleep, they knew better than to ask me to do that. But I did need to stay in the hotel.
So, I took a shower, I put on my usual late night outfit of a t-shirt and underwear, and I lay in bed and I listened to the scooters outside. When I got bored with the scooters, I turned on the TV and I watched an episode of an American soap opera that had been dubbed into Italian. I could follow the plot just fine and I found myself wondering if maybe my sisters had been exaggerating the language difference.
Finally, I decided that, even if I couldn’t go outside, there was no reason why I couldn’t step outside of my room and walk up and down the hotel hallway. It would give me a chance to stretch my legs and work off my restlessness. Plus, it was two in the morning. Every other guest at the hotel was probably asleep. I’d have the hallway to myself.
I stood up and walked over to the door of my hotel room. As I approached, I felt a chill in the air and I shivered a bit. At the time, I didn’t think much of it, figuring it was due to me being underdressed and that maybe there was just a random cold spot in the room. I put my hand on the door knob, turned it, and slowly opened my door.
There was a woman standing directly across the hall from my room. She appeared to be in her forties, short and slightly heavy-set with long, jet black hair. She was wearing a shapeless brown dress and her dark eyes narrowed at the sight of me. What I immediately noticed about her was that her skin was an ashen gray.
I stared at her for a few seconds, not knowing what to say but fully aware that she was glaring at me.
Slowly, she asked, in perfect English that carried not a trace of an accent, “What are you doing here?”
I still didn’t know what to say.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!?” she snapped.
I tried to say something but the words wouldn’t come.
“I OWN THIS HOTEL!” she yelled, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!?”
She started to move towards my room. I slammed the door shut and locked it.
I stood there for what seemed to be an eternity, listening for her. I was expecting her to start pounding on the door and screaming at me to come out but she didn’t. Instead, after I shut the door, I didn’t hear anything in the hallway. I didn’t hear her breathing. I didn’t hear her walking away. I didn’t hear anything.
Finally, after what seemed like an hour but was probably just a few minutes, I open the door a crack and peeked outside. The hallway was empty. The woman, whoever she had been, was gone. Still, I wasn’t going to take a risk. I closed the door again, got back in bed, and I didn’t get out of bed until the next morning.
When I asked my sisters if they had seen the woman, they had no idea who I was talking about. They hadn’t any seen any woman fitting the description at the hotel. They told me that I should have called them or the front desk for help and they were probably right but, at that moment, I had been too frightened to do anything. I had seen enough horror movies to know that calling for help was usually the least effective thing you could do when confronted by a maniac. It was my sister Erin who told me that the woman was probably a ghost, maybe the former owner of hotel demanding to know why I was in her home at two in the morning. Maybe she was. I don’t believe in ghosts but if I ever did see one, it was probably her.
This nature trail is located a few miles away from my house. When the weather is just right, I like to go down there and walk along the path and just enjoy the peace and beauty of nature.
What many people do not know, even those who visit the park on a daily basis, is that if you take a step off the nature trail and follow an overgrown path through the trees, you can find a historic cemetery that has sat in the park since the town was founded in the 1850s.
It’s rare that I visit the nature trail without also visiting the cemetery. It’s a reminder of the people who were here before me and who lived on this land before it became a park where people jog, ride their bicycles, and look at their phones when they should be looking at the world around them.
Through the Shattered Lens 