Chapter 23: In a Small Town

Anja and Curtis lived in adjacent suburbs of a large city in the southeastern United States. Although they did not have any racial issues between them, they were a little bit cautious about being out in public together. Curtis had been cautioned, like many of his peers, to be careful (for example) when dealing with the police, and while traveling in rural areas.

But the two of them decided to attend a farming festival about 100 miles from the city where the beekeepers and the apple orchards were celebrated. After all, over 90% of apple trees are pollinated by bees, particularly honey bees.

At the end of a pleasant afternoon, they had loaded their back seat with several treats: honey, apple butter, cider, and so on. Hungry, they stopped at a local diner for dinner. This may have been a mistake.

Coldly and abruptly, the waitress asked for their orders. She was in her 50s or 60s and reeked of tobacco. Their booth was opposite a line of high stools by a long counter where people could have a quick meal, with the staff moving back and forth right in front of them. While they were waiting, two young white men on nearby stools stood up and loomed over Anja. Ass #1 wore a t-shirt that read, “It’s not Rape, It’s a Snuggle with a Struggle.” Ass #2 wore a shirt with a huge Confederate Battle Flag, matching the one tattooed on his arm.

They began with rude comments and propositions, urging Anja to leave and “party” with the two of them, ignoring her protests and denials, and ignoring Curtis as well, who was more and more angry and heated.

Curtis awkwardly tried to get to his feet and exit the booth. Ass #1 roughly shoved him back down onto the vinyl bench.

“Sit down, boy,” Ass #1 growled, maliciously.

Meanwhile, farther down the counter, Leonard Harrison, a middle-aged (white) man, told the waitress, “Call the police.”

“What for? They ain’t doin’ nothin’ wrong.”

Leonard huffed with exasperation. He nudged the man he had come in with and looked around the diner. He got the attention of another man, who nodded and slipped out of his booth.

While this was happening, Curtis was now in trouble, awkwardly pinned into the booth. Ass #2 had moved into the adjoining (empty) booth behind Curtis and had his tattooed arm across his neck. Ass #1 had his knee on the seat cushion. Clearly, he was about to punch Curtis in the face, and there was nothing he could do to protect himself.

Anja was frantically looking for something—anything—she could use as a weapon against the two of them. Then Leonard tapped Ass #1 on the shoulder.

Not even turning his head, he growled, “Mind your business.”

Another tap. Ass #1 turned his head, and decided Leonard was no threat to him.

“Fuck off, asshole.” He wound up for a vicious punch to Curtis’ face.

Leonard needed to act quickly, and he did. He punched Ass #1 in the kidney; it was shockingly painful—just as Leonard intended. Ass #1 folded forward with his face near the surface of the booth’s table. Ass #2’s arm was gone from Curtis’ neck because Leonard’s companion and the volunteer had dragged him out of the other booth to the floor. He was pinned down with a knee in his back.

Curtis grabbed his attacker’s mullet and smacked his face against the tabletop a few times. Suddenly, the waitress decided she needed law enforcement and called 9-1-1. She was gratified to see the flashing blue lights of a sheriff’s SUV appear in only two minutes. (The deputies were just down the road finishing another call when they heard from dispatch, so they arrived quickly.)

When the deputies arrived, the vindictive mood of the waitress vanished. Both Deputy Connie Franklin and Senior Deputy Jada Larson were African-Americans. And, as it turned out, Leonard Harrison coached teens in MMA (Mixed Martial Arts) in the city. Teens of all races, naturally.

Ass #1 with the rapey shirt already had a warrant out for violating his probation, so he went straight back to prison. Ass #2 had crystal methamphetamine in his pocket and couldn’t make bail. He stayed in the county jail, awaiting trial. Anja and Curtis didn’t know or care about these things, because they were long gone by the time the deputies finished dealing with the two asses.