I had just texted a concerned friend that we were pretty removed from the riots when a small mob came through Fells Point. Immediately I flashed back to those first few days as a single parent in Baltimore City without my ex husband there with us. I had almost forgotten how scared I was to be alone in that big house, no one but me protecting my kids if something happened or someone broke in. And when the mob showed up at my door and began banging on the glass, I realized my worst fears were coming true.
I had the kids holed up on the third floor with me, just in case. And while I should have had some family-friendly program on the T.V., I had the news on instead. (The exact opposite of family friendly.) We were watching blow-by-blows of the riots when about 15 pissed off kids in their late teens or early twenties tried to break in downstairs. Completely terrified, I managed to blow it off pranksters in order to calm the kids, then went out to my balcony on the side of the house to attempt to scare them off. “Who’s banging on my door? My kids and I are here and you need to leave right NOW! The police have been called and are on their way!” Or something to that effect.
“SHUT THE FUCK UP! GO THE FUCK BACK INSIDE AND BE QUIET YOU STUPID BITCH!” The response shocked me because it wasn’t from the mob, but from my neighbor, Jack. A queer-as-folk, career bachelor who has never uttered a cuss word to me in the two decades I have known him was next door, unloading boxes of something from his car into his house at the time. He’s been a good neighbor, and I’ve been the only person he trusted with spare keys to his home. We’ve always looked out for each others’ properties, so I was certain that he wasn’t aware of what was going on. “They’re trying to break into my house Jack!” I replied, attempting to alert him to the situation.
“So the fuck what, shut up! They’re crazy and you’re attracting their attention. Go the fuck back inside and be quiet!”
At first I was confused? He clearly knew what was going on, so how would this tactic of do nothing and let the rioters continue to break through my front door help protect me and my kids? But then it dawned on me that it wouldn’t.
Jack wasn’t trying to protect us, he was trying to protect himself—at our expense.
The good news is that the rioters DID hear me and moved on. They weren’t interested in hurting anyone, just looking for small businesses to loot, as evidenced by the line of destruction they caused at all the empty businesses between my own property and through Fells Point toward Canton. And while Jack was very comfortable throwing me and my kids under the bus to protect himself, other neighbors who heard the commotion came running to help and stood with me in solidarity while we watched the mob move on.
The next morning when I was discussing the experience with a friend, she was much kinder than I was with her assessment of the situation. “In times of crisis, people react strangely.” But I don’t accept that. No matter what, save the children first. And anyone who doesn’t agree with that better not cross paths with me when the chips are down.
I wrote Jack a note the next morning and slipped it though the slot with his spare keys. “Dear Jack, take back your keys, you coward. While I don’t expect you to help out when the kids and I are in danger, if you ever do or say anything to try to prevent me from protecting them again, I will MOW YOU DOWN.
Sometimes it can take decades to build a relationship, but a brief moment to tear it down.