After anywhere between 10 and 20 seconds later, the would-be assailant released me unexpectedly.

“I’ll put you through the f***** wall!” he said as he turned around to face the crowd that formed around us. The Chicago crew singled him out and circled around him menacingly. “Why you f****** with him?” one person asked. He paused for a moment to look around himself at everyone like he was thinking, “Damn, where did all these people come from?”

Probably bored of waiting, one of the members of the Chicago crew cocked his hat back, walked up to the aggressor, and pushed him hard, causing him to stumble forward a couple of steps and turn around to face whoever pushed him. Another one punched him in the back of his head, causing his hat to fly off as he turned and swung but missed. Then, both groups immediately came together and started brawling in the middle of State Street. There were people fighting all over; two on one, one on one, just arms swinging everywhere. I started laughing, perhaps as a nervous outlet, at how fast everything escalated. Fortunately, it seemed that everyone else had completely forgotten about us in the middle of this melee.

Just then, J. told me we needed to leave.

“Come on, we gotta help these guys!” I said.

1. grabbed onto me for the second time and said in desperation that we needed to get as far away from this place as possible. I struggled against him and managed to hold my ground.

“Alright, but you need to quit putin’ your hands on me!” I said as we began walking up State Street towards the Capitol.

Less than a block down, a younger girl who appeared to be around high school age was standing on the curb leaning over the street facing down the road where the chaos was taking place trying to figure out what was going on. I had no idea why someone her age would be out this late by herself.

“You see that? Those guys are fighting because of me!” I said to her while laughing about it. I was still emotionally charged from the encounter, and it seemed like humor was my chosen response to the psychological pressure.

As we continued past the girl and proceeded to our original destination, things got quiet down the street for a moment, and then in unison, about five voices from the Chicago crew all said, “Oooooooooooooooooooooo!!!” with a little bit of laughter mixed in.

“I missed something good!” I thought to myself disappointedly, but it wasn’t disappointing that I was able to walk away from such a dangerous situation unfazed. I wasn’t sure who those guys were from Chicago, but they showed up out of nowhere at exactly the right time like some knights. I’d never forget that heroic act.

As if one encounter wasn’t bad enough, we ran into literally the same scenario. Exactly like the first time, a person walked past J., turned around and said, “You’re f***** up!” because of how he was walking. Sadly, J. didn’t learn to watch his words after the first encounter (those Sagittarians!). This time his words were even more unfiltered, as he referenced the guy’s mom in an unmentionable act. As soon as he finished speaking, J. ran into the last member of their group who was trailing behind the others as though instant karma came to stare him in the face.

“You didn’t do nothin’ with my guy’s mom like that,” he said, towering over J. and walking him back as they both had their arms out to the sides. A couple of the guy’s friends were watching the spectacle. “What are they doing?” one asked. The other one and I both answered at the same time. “I think they’re dancing!”

Suddenly I heard a loud thud and turned back to see J. lying on his back on the sidewalk. I turned and looked at the guy who confronted him with a look as though I asked, “What did you do?”

Verbally responding to my look, he said very anxiously, “I’m sorry, man! I had to do it!” Then he and the others took off running through the crowd.

By this time, there was a small ring of people standing around J. looking down at him on the ground. I tried to help him up by pulling his arm. He started to stand up but then instantly fell back on the ground again. One girl asked me if he was my friend, to which I responded affirmatively. “You need to get him to detox!” she said.

I managed to get J. back up on his feet and helped him down the road to Bullfeathers where we could sit and recuperate from all the action. There, he told me that the person who confronted him the second time pushed him into a brick wall and he hit his head. I was glad that he was alright considering how fragile the back of the head area is. Fortunately, nothing else of significance happened that night. I think he finally learned after the second encounter it was best to keep his mouth closed for the duration of the evening.

The next day, J. called me and told me that he actually left blood on his pillow from the head injury. I didn’t realize it was that bad. He’s fortunate there wasn’t any permanent damage. The damage to our friendship did have permanence, however. I realized it was too dangerous to continue hanging out with him and began to put some distance between us or only meet with him occasionally during the daytime when there would be considerably less danger. I had seen enough trouble over the last few years that the taste of it was no longer anything that I craved. What good is fun when you’re not even alive to enjoy it?

I set a time to leave Madison for New Mexico in late August/early September of that year, but my trip evolved into a whole odyssey. I got inspired to take a trip around the U.S. in a loop that encompassed Michigan, Ohio, New York, Georgia, Florida, Mississippi, and finally New Mexico. I had family and friends I planned to visit all along that route, including the first friend I ever had who I hadn’t seen or heard anything from for about 14 years. My feelings about it were equally exciting as they were anxious.

I had left home before to live in another state, but this time was different. This time I had the feeling that when I left everything behind, there would be no way back. Despite the huge transformation I underwent while living in Florida, I was still able to find a way back to the old life I once lived. This time there would be no such option. It was a difficult choice to make, but I knew that in order to advance my life, I couldn’t do it sitting still.

In late August, I put in my two weeks at Pasqual’s. A high school girl named Maggie was kind enough to put together an album of photos of all of our coworkers. The reason I think she did that was because she had a crush on me, to which I firmly communicated to her that she was not the right age, regardless of the relatively small age gap between us. Her going away present was very much appreciated. It was one of the only things from my old life that I would be able to take with me as I set out to explore new horizons.