Float Like a Butterfly, Sting Like a Bee

 I feel like it's time for one of those authentic skeleton in the closet posts.  How else can you ever relate to a writer if you never see a bone.  Therefore I present to you: "Something I only share with my closest friends while drinking beers" (cheers):

I had just graduated with a Bachelors of Arts in English Literature from the University of Tennessee - Knoxville.  To celebrate I went out with a group of friends.  And, looking back, by "friends," I mean that circle of people you associate with so you don't have to be alone. "Friends."  We were in "Old City" at a bar on the corner called...(damn I can't remember).  We were sitting at a circular booth like the ones in Pulp Fiction.  Some random people came over to sit down with us.  I was getting pretty, I dunno, not wasted, but all my sixth senses were gone.  And, suddenly I realized my purse with all my cash and phone was gone.  And, I went nuts in a panic.  

I ran to the bar to call the police, and looking back I'm not even sure why I made that mistake.  The bartender could see my panic and would not let me use the phone.  So, in hysteria I did the Karen thing and asked to speak to a manager.  And, the manager brought me back to his windowless office and shut the door.  And, he pushed me up against his desk and ran his hand up my dress.  

I learned I am a fighter a long time ago.  When presented with a situation of fighting or turning back in fear, I will always fight.  Only people don't like fighters.  I find people, generally, praise and admire a fighter.  Like Mohammad Ali.  Take for example his famous words: "Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee."  What does it mean?  Is it literal or metaphorical?  Anyways, additionally, maybe that's why "the first rule of fight club is 'there is no fight club'"

I decked the guy in the jaw.  He wasn't prepared for it.  So, he picks up the phone and calls someone, and I run out of his office.  All my friends were gone and I was there, alone.  From that moment on I can only recall what happened in segments:

I was thrown up against a squad car and cuffed by two male officers.  I do not remember what I could have done to have possibly warranted that.  I was driven around dark parking lots and alleyways for who even knows how long.  When you are in the fear state, time is inconsequential.  I remember finally seeing a light and it was the street light of the jail.  I was aggressively taken out of the car.  I was strapped to a wooden chair with arm and leg restraints.  A female officer kept coming up to my face and agitating me, and I spit in her face.  They took me out of the chair and down the hall to another monster who asked me my name and social security number.  And I told her I was just a figment of her imagination.  Okay, lemme stop right here and say, "Never try this at home kids.  Unless you want to spend the night in a padded cell listening to the cries of a pregnant prostitute in the cell next to you." (Spoken from experience).

Anyways, my point is this: (yes, I do have one, so thank you if you have read this far.  I know it's hard.  People hate reading anymore).  Yes, my parents drove 7 hours to come get me out of jail and help get me a shit lawyer who didn't do his job.  Yes, all my charges were dropped after the bar manager was convicted of two rapes, both in his office.  But, does that mean this ONE night has not haunted me through my life?  Turns out, if you ever want to work for the government, they can see "assault" on your record even if it was expunged.  And, my "assault" was "self defense."  It's just been misunderstood.

Thank you so much for reading, lovies, and I hope you have an inspiring day.  "Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee." Namaste.