...Or Stay Tuned

Or Stay Tuned…

I don’t think there is a God, but if there is then the purpose he has for me is clear. I have no compelling story to tell you, no childhood, no memories, no life changing event that has inspired me to become who I am. Do not confuse my lack of a personal background for amnesia, because I remember every event in my life as if it had occurred last night; which by the way is a very distinct possibility. It was nothing spectacular, first there was nothingness and then I existed. I have no real emotions, no sense of right and wrong and because of my empathy people often question as to why I choose to do the things that I do. The answer however is much simpler than you would think. I do the things that I do because it feels right to do them. This is as good an answer as any, is it not? People use this same reason as justification to harm each other, so why not use it to help them?

Allow me to describe myself briefly, I exist as what some of you might know as a Black man or an African American. Although some of the people whom I have aided in the past sometimes attach abstract or symbolic meanings to the way I dress, there simply is no higher purpose for them other than their functionality. I wear a black bandana that covers my nose and mouth while on my head I wear a black du-rag such that the only parts of my face that are exposed are my eyes and ears. People refer to this garment that I wear beneath my black “hoodie” as a “wife beater”. I wear loose fitting blue jeans and black basketball shoes. And sometimes I wear boxing tape over my hands or black gloves to help protect my knuckles whenever they collide with a criminal’s face. I have always dressed this way. Sometimes I wonder if there is even a face beneath this bandana, or perhaps this so called “disguise” really is my true face. Perhaps this is the extent of my existence.

The only names which I have claimed for myself is I, I am, myself and me. But people in this city have referred to me by other names as if to add some depth to my character. Some of the frequent and more humorous names I have been called include “the Protector, the Punisher, the Shadow, the Guardian of the Projects, the Black Angel,” and my personal favorite, “the Ghetto Superman.” I don’t know if I should be flattered or offended by the fact that it appears to be mostly White individuals who come up with these silly names. But the name people have come to call me that is used most frequently, both in the streets and in the newspapers, is “The Watcher.” Rather plain in my opinion but it serves its purpose. This name is easily recognizable, it is free of those meaningless racial epithets and perhaps most importantly; it seems to strike fear into those who would seek to do harm to others.

Now I believe in freedom, this life is all that there is, therefore people should be free to live it however they choose, however people should never use their freedom to infringe upon the freedom of others. When this happens and the people being harmed are too weak to resist on their own, that is when I step in to correct them.

I am not faster than a speeding bullet, but I am unusually fast, I can easily escape the police who so frequently attempt to pursue me and I can outrun the criminals who try to escape me without even losing my breath. I am not more powerful than a locomotive, but I am unusually strong for a human being; so strong in fact that I can manage to lift a police cruiser over my head and even throw it a fair distance, but only at the expense of unimaginable fatigue. I cannot leap tall buildings in a single bound, but I have great agility with which I use to take refuge in the maze of rooftops and alleyways which comprise this dark city. Though I am not invincible I have found that my body can heal at an unusually high rate, so much that the injuries I sustain in one night are usually gone by the next. And I never carry any weapons other than my fists and my feet. Weapons tend to cause more collateral damage than is necessary.

One thing about me that people might find unusual is my affinity for darkness. I am never out before the sun has set completely and I never remain outside past sunrise. As a matter of fact, I cannot even recall witnessing sunlight with my own eyes. I am not a vampire or any other similar imaginary creature, I simply feel compelled to sleep whenever the sun is out. For this reason my memories are only of darkness and I have little concept of time other than brief lapses in consciousness. The night is my mother, it was she who bore me and with each new sunset she welcomes me back with open arms.

When I first came into existence it seemed that I was all alone in my pursuits, but that changed one night near the beginning of my life. I heard a young woman cry in distress. The sound was coming from an alleyway that curved around the back of an old tenement. As I approached the alley I could hear voices belonging to a group of men. The information I gathered from the sounds of their voices as well as the noise they made as the moved told me that there were three Caucasian men, ranging in ages between twenty-five and thirty-eight, assaulting a young African American girl about fifteen, perhaps even sixteen years of age.

I have always found the notion of grown men attacking young women to be quite reprehensible, so I decided it would be best to intervene. As I entered the alleyway I saw that one of the assailants was pushing the girl’s back against the wall as he tried to undo her belt. To the left of him was a short stalky man with red hair smiling fiendishly while he held a white purse. He was facing me with his back to the chain-link fence behind him, but he was so distracted by the actions of his accomplice that he did not even notice me. The third assailant was the one standing closest to me with his back turned toward me. In his hands he held a pink cellular phone. I never saw his face but I could see that he was a tall man, perhaps even taller than me, with a shaved head. He had the build of a professional football player and as such I tried to avoid fighting him face to face if it was at all possible. 

I approached the attacker closest to me and instinctively kicked his feet out from beneath him. I slammed his head into the concrete, if this did not kill him it certainly incapacitated him for the time being. At this point the other two attackers were alerted of my presence. I ran to the man who had been fondling the poor girl and before he could get to his feet, I quickly grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and hurled him to the other side of the alley where he collided with the wall with great force. The third assailant, now stricken with fear, anxiously removed a large knife from a leather sheath attached to his belt. I paused upon viewing the knife, thinking it best to allow him to attack me first so I could disarm him with a counterattack. He thrust the knife toward my abdomen with his left hand, but I easily caught his wrist with my right hand before he could do any damage. I pulled his arm upward while applying pressure to his wrist. This caused him to drop the knife onto the ground. As soon as he was disarmed, I grabbed the man’s throat with my left hand and slammed him against the wall causing several bricks to shatter beneath him.

I thought it was all over when I saw the third assailant fall limply to the concrete, but in the corner of my eye I could see the man I had hurled against the opposite wall move as he removed a small thirty-eight caliber revolver from the pocket of his leather jacket. I ducked my head just as the man fired a single shot at me. I instinctively ran over to him and kicked the weapon out of his hand. He cursed one last time as I delivered a powerful blow to his right temple, knocking him unconscious.

When all was safe I turned around to see the girl still cowering against the brick wall. I slowly approached her to make sure that she was okay, but as soon as I took my first step the girl lunged for the white purse and removed a spray can from one of the pockets. Pepper spray, I hate that stuff. The women in this city are too easily provoked when they carry that poison around with them. She aimed the nozzle at me as if to warn me not to come any closer. I paused and held my hands in the air to show her that I meant her no harm. The girl was obviously still in shock from the traumatic event, so instead of approaching her I turned to the baldheaded assailant who was still lying face down in the concrete. I picked up the phone that was still resting in his right hand and held it out to the girl in hope that she would trust me enough to take it. I could see the distrust in her face gradually begin to fade, but still she did not lower her weapon. I decided to simply slide the phone across the ground so she could pick it up herself.

It seemed that my work was done for the time being. I turned toward the exit of the alley and began to make my way out when suddenly I heard approaching footsteps. The flashlights shining on the ground in front of me alerted me to the presence of the two rapidly approaching police officers. I turned around and ran toward the chain-link fence before they rounded the corner. One of the officers shouted for me to stop, but I had already leaped toward the fence before he could utter his first syllable.

As I swung my legs over the top of the fence, my eyes were briefly directed toward the roof of the building opposite where the girl was still lying. I only caught a glimpse of him but I saw enough of his features for me to recognize him. Standing on the ledge above the alleyway was a man wearing a worn leather jacket. He was about five feet, ten inches tall. Even though he was far away I could clearly see a series of scars near his left eye. I remember his face from a newspaper I had seen lying in the sidewalk one night, but for all of my efforts I could not recall his name. I think he is a criminal, but unlike the three men I had just put out of commission, I don’t think he is out to hurt innocent people. I faintly remember seeing the word “vigilante” on that newspaper but I am not sure if it was in reference to him.

“Who is that man?” I asked myself as I bolted down the alleyway, disappearing once again within the maze of darkness and alleyways.