A Happy Ending…, by Whitney Farmer – Un Pop Culture

March 16, 2011 Whitney Farmer 18 Comments

Whitney runs a rock music venue on the beach in L.A. She has an M.B.A, but needs to find a good mechanic.
An hour ago, I got a call from the District Attorney who was prosecuting the assault and battery case against the LAPD cop who came after one of our servers a few months ago. None of us will have to testify today, tomorrow, or any other day because he pled guilty to a lesser charge that will allow him to still carry a firearm. It’s on his record now, and he has Internal Affairs to trouble him as well as restraining orders against him that protect the victim, and require him to stay 100 meters away from the pier where the club is located.
The good news is that all of us will be able to get some sleep in the midst of a grueling five day show schedule. I was planning on napping on the VIP couches after closing out the nights before trading in my fishnets, motorcycle boots, and dangling earrings for my banker business suit, sensible shoes, and sensible pearls.

The bad news is that none of us have an excuse to flee for safety to Samoa, Fiji, or Tonga – all of which were safe haven prospects where we have connections in the event that we had to hide from a crooked cop.
When I heard the relief in the young woman’s voice about not having to go through the ordeal of a trial and yet having justice served, I was grateful for not just the system that we have but also for the people who spend their careers trying to accomplish the work of comic book heroes. Last night – this morning? – about 3 am, I was at a 24 hour drug store with my Samoan door man Bone who had gotten a chuck of flesh torn out of his foot when Skid Row dropped some of their gear during loading in. Bone won’t go to the doctor, so I took him to get every available wet dressing, antibiotic ointment, waterproof dressings, magical poultice… And potato chips. A police officer came in, and I recognized him as one of the lead investigators in the case. He was in full uniform this time, not the hoody and jeans from when he works undercover, and we talked about when we were all expecting to testify. He asked how our server was doing and if she still felt strong enough to go forward. I said yes, but that she was frightened about retaliation. Then I realized that I was telling him that she was frightened of the circle that this good officer was a member.  I told him again how grateful we all were for what they had done to help us during this time. Then Bone and I got into my car, and the officer got into his car alone and drove off into the night, with no one to watch his back.
When I was in second grade, three boys threatened me with a knife on the playground. ‘George’ asked me to come behind a tree where he had found a neat rock, and I was just getting into geology. When I got there under the cool shade and hidden from the view of the playground supervisor with her silver whistle, George grabbed me and held my arms behind my back. He and another boy were laughing as another held the knife to my stomach. I said some plea for them not to hurt me one half a second before I began to twist and kick and bite and punch, and then ran completely unharmed to the protection of the old lady with the whistle.
Because the event was so unknown and so ominous, the school officials decided that the best course of action was to not believe me. I was pulled in front of the class to face those ‘good boys’. My teacher pressured me to recant my story. I still feel a soft pride for the little girl I was when I remember saying, “But they did it,” and defending myself when no one else would.

I got my revenge. After moving, George and I ended up being classmates again as our middle schools fed into one high school in 10th grade. I was a cheerleader and homecoming princess. I swam varsity and waterpolo. I competed in debate and was class president and an A student. And George was not. I would see him walk along the sides of the hallways as students rushed between classes. His head was down and he seemed to be trying to disappear. One day, I remembered the terror I had felt and having to fight against being called a liar. I caught his gaze in the hallway, and stared at him with hatred. Before my eyes, it was as if I saw him be hit by one death blow. He knew that he had done wrong, and he knew that I remembered. I don’t know if I ever saw him again.
Revenge is overrated, especially when it is successful. I want to tell George, “You are forgiven” and “I’m okay”. When fire falls from the sky on the bad guys, it isn’t a time to celebrate. It’s time to feel relief that what was wrong has been set right, but don’t turn around to watch the spectacle. Keep moving in the right direction.

Quote of the Blog, from Ed, Dude of Light and Fog: “I decided to use the disco ball on that last one.”