Age Progression

There was one other time I saw him again.

It did not dawn on me at first that it could be him.

All I remember was driving up to a taqueria on Mission Street and jumping out of the car only to see an old man flipping me off.  There a haggard old man sat next to a rusty metal table flipping me off.  I dashed over to Steve on the other side of the car to warn him about what had just happened.

“We have to go,” I whispered.  I then blurted out what I had witnessed.

Steve took immediate action and confronted the man instead.  He questioned him over and over as to why he did this to me.  Threw in an assortment of swear words that were only met with a bowed head.  Then a mere nod.  A very smug nod at that.

I just wanted to get out of there.  But we went inside and told the staff what had happened. And again we were met with silence.  At this point, I think the staff was more scared of us than of him.  They thought we were the ones becoming unhinged.

Yet it still did not dawn on me that it could be him.  The man I coined The Bad Man.  I never did like to say his name.

We abruptly left and skirted quickly back to the safety of our car.  And then it hit me.  I looked back through the smudged windshield and figured it all out.

The startling images flashed before me like a scene out of CSI.

I zeroed in on the hands I suddenly remembered so vividly.  These huge hands.  Those huge fists.  These huge hands he use to bash my head into a wall.  Those huge fists he use to bash into my head.

There he was all cloaked in leather from head to toe.  Just like he used to wear as he swaggered around town both on and off his motorcycle.  

And there were his Vacant Eyes.  Devoid of any feeling. Any kindness. Any compassion.  

No amount of Age Progression could hide these truths.

There he was in all of His Abusive Glory.  

Flipping me off twelve years later.

In front of a taqueria.

He always wanted to have the last word.

Uncensored