Dear Andrea,
He is not going to shoot you. This experience will stick with you until dementia. It will reshape how you see the limited time you’ve been given in this body. It will lead you to act in ways you’ll feel guilty about far longer than you think you should. Go ahead and take a deep breath; he is not going to shoot you.
Their footsteps will disappear, echoing the rubber belt lined walls.
Once these men leave, you will walk slowly to the bathroom in the opposite corner of the building. Your angry brain will want to pocket the pile of fives by the back door that they dropped while fleeing—don’t. Get to the bathroom so you can clean yourself as best you can. Your boyfriend will bring you some clean pants and underwear. Just throw these ones away, you will never get that smell out.
You can cry now. You will do a lot of that. Yes, it really did happen. And you will have to relive it several times to several different police officers starting in about five minutes. It might be ten minutes—your concept of time is askew and that’s okay. By now, a resident of the subdivision behind the store has pulled up to the front door and is on the phone with dispatch. He witnessed the men flee. He wants to help. He will also come into the store to check on you several times in the future, not always announcing himself. You’ll appreciate that eventually.
Only a small handful of hair came out of your scalp, just leave the ponytail in. It will be a few years before you are able to rock this hairstyle again. Call your boyfriend. He knows you enough to understand your needs through the sobbing. He hasn’t left for work yet.
Always,
Andrea
