Your life is worth more than a Honda. Even if I hadn't said that to myself a million times I still believe I heard it equally as much from close friends, neighbors, family and the police. I mean, honestly, the car ran really well for being over twelve years old. Hell, that car could probably run for another twenty! There was nothing very special about it aside from the fact that it was as reliable as, well Ole Reliable. It looked nice enough, not to boxy, just the right amount of curves and aggressive lines to give it a sensible adult look yet still feel cool enough to cruise around and pick up chicks. Scratch that, the car was very special. It was special to me. It was my first car, the first thing I ever paid off. I remember almost crying when I finally got that pink slip. I felt a sense of triumph I had not felt since I was a ten year old boy in little league, knocking a hard one over the cheap orange fence that marked the boundaries of the baseball field, or the first time I ever made love to a girl.Erika Sanchez. Man was she something. I was a late bloomer when it came to sex but when the moment finally happened it was like all the stress and doubt over losing my virginity had never existed. It was like praying every day as a twelve year old boy for some man hair and then taking a shower one day and wondering where the hell all that hair came from all of a sudden. It was that same sense of surprised triumph followed by a weird, that was what all the fuss was about? moment. Only that triumph for paying off the biggest debt in my life at the time never faded.I thought about buying a new car. I mean every year there is a must have product with newer features, extra power and even more luxurious. Yeah, maybe. The only thing I knew for sure though was it was gonna cost me more money. You know, the Honda never let me down. The back seat was more than enough room for some fun with my future wife (and a few other girls) on many occasions . After we were married it fit our growing family nicely. Like I said the car was sexy yet sensible. Even the color of the car was really unremarkable. A kinda sophisticated champagne color with dark tinted rear windows and aluminum wheels. I was never noticed by cops, even as I speed down the 405 freeway at over 80 mph.That's why I was so shocked when I found myself staring down the barrel of an impossibly sinister revolver on my way home from Target that day. One second I'm sitting down and the next a giant black hole is staring you in the face.People ask me all the time if I was scared.Hell yes I was scared! What kind of idiot wouldn't be? But there was a moment, before the asshole puckering fear seized me, that all I felt was dumb, stupid shock. I tried to look past the barrel of that awful dark gun to whatever abominable creature was wielding it but couldn't. The revolver was a menacing glossy black, like the color of a giant black widow, full of venom and promising death. As my scrotum shrunk to almost prepubescent size I finally realized the gun wielder was yelling at me.Had been, in fact, screaming at me for several moments and was spraying spittle into my face which had gone dumb with slack. I tore my eyes from the gun and tried to focus on its owner. I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT THE CAR YOU STUPID MOTHERFUCKER! The man screamed. His voice was full of adrenaline and rage and I had no doubt in my mind that I was going to die. I WILL BLOW YOUR FUCKING HEAD OFF BUDDY!Despite my terror, which was sending me dangerously close to pissing all over myself, I almost laughed out loud at that. I bit my tongue, hard. The sharp pain caused me to jump in my seat and cry out but I finally found myself able to move. The man reached for the door with his free hand and jerked it open before slamming the barrel of his gun into the side of my head. A burst of pain exploded through my head like a boiling wave and my bladder finally let go. As the hot stream of piss soaked into my Honda's leather seats I briefly remembered the time when I had spanked the hell out of my oldest son for wetting his bed when he was three. Look at me now.The thought passed briefly though because the man with the gun was grabbing me by the collar of my blue polo shirt and yanking me forcefully from the car. I screamed as he grabbed me I'm ashamed to say and he jabbed the gun at me again, this time crushing my nose and splitting my upper lip. A gout of blood sprayed from my face and I realized I was crying.Muh, muh, muh seat belt! I sobbed through the blood flowing from my nose I-I can't get out! Tears were running down my face faster than I thought possible and was blurring my vision something awful. Later on I would tell the police that I couldn't remember a thing about my attacker, that it had all been one nightmarish blur. But that was a lie. I do remember one thing awfully clear. As I sat in my piss, sobbing like a fucking bitch and sitting there with my hands cupping my face and trying to stem the absurd amount of blood gushing from my face, the man pulled the gun from my face and then slapped me with a loud yell.My head snapped back like I had been hit from the rear by another car and a fresh wave of pain crashed through me. My face burned with red hot pain and I was sure his hand print would be engraved on my face for the rest of my life. When the stars cleared from my vision the man's face was close to mine. His breath smelled of cheap beer and cigarettes and I was close enough to smell the dirty sweaty odor that radiated from his body. The man was slim, scrawny even, and his skin was dark and glistened with sweat. His face was furrowed in anger and the hairs from his patchy salt and pepper beard stood out stiffly, like porcupine quills. The man scratched at the side of his neck and licked his dry cracked lips. His eyes are what I remembered most clearly. As I sat there trembling, sobbing and bleeding, what I saw in his eyes terrified me even more. The man's dark eyes were pure madness. He laughed maniacally and I knew he was totally deranged. His body twitched nervously, his finger still on the trigger of the gun which was now leveled at my chest.Oh god! I sobbed and shut my eyes, knowing I was going to die. The man struck me again, almost as hard as before and I felt the skin on my cheekbone split open.STOP THAT CRYING! STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT! The man screamed, spraying spittle at me once again like a rabid pit bull.I can't! I wailed and I turned my head away from him refusing to open my eyes. My chest was rising and falling violently as I cried in between ragged sobbing breaths and I cringed waiting for him to either finally shoot me or strike me again.Instead of being slapped or shot though I felt his body cross in front of mine and I cried out as if I had been struck.SHUT UP YOU LITTLE BITCH! I AIN'T EVEN TOUCHED YOU! The man screamed in my face and then I heard smooth clicking sound. Then I sensed his body crossing in front of mine once again before he rapped me with the butt of his gun.OPEN YOUR EYES YOU CRY BABY BITCH!I forced my eyes to open, wishing I could force myself from crying, and was once again staring in the barrel of the large black as night revolver.Get out of the car now or I will kill you This time the man did not scream, only spoke in a low calm whisper. For some reason, the quiet firmness in his voice terrified me more than his screaming and cursing and if I could, I would have pissed myself all over again.I already undid your belt and put the car in park. Get out he said with a surreal calmness and this time the man cocked the hammer of the revolver back slowly with his thumb.Yes, yes, anything you want, just please don't kill me! I cried only I sounded more like Yeshh, yeshh, anythin you want, jush pleash don't kill me because of my throbbing tongue and broken nose.The man surged forward suddenly, grabbing me roughly by the neck and pulled me out of the car. I collapsed on the hot asphalt in a bloody heap, my legs rubbery and weak and curled up in a little ball, knees to my chest and sobbed loudly. The man tried to step over me and into my beloved Honda but somehow stepped onto my side and began to fall. He grabbed viciously for the door in a sudden panic, not knowing what was going on and dropped the gun.The gun went off with an incredibly loud bang and for a second I couldn't hear anything at all but a high whistle. The side of my head burned and I felt something hot dripping down the side of my neck but all I was aware of was the gun.It was right between me and my attacker. No, I have to be totally honest, it was slightly closer to me. I looked up and saw that the man had managed to avoid falling completely but was now sitting in my piss and blood soaked seat, his feet dangling out the side of the car. His face was surprised and he stared at the gun stupidly but didn't move.For a split second, (eternity) I imagined myself reaching out for the gun, gripping the cold metal fiercely and then turning the spiteful thing on its very deserving owner. He would never have enough time to get up out of the seat and steal it from me.But in the back of my mind a doubt fluttered to the forefront of my thoughts. What if he gets it first? I would die for sure. I knew, in my heart of hearts, that I would die on the street on this beautiful sunny Californian day. Your life is worth more than a Honda rose from the back of my mind, the part that only cares about survival. The thought came back to me again and instead of reaching for the gun that was oh so close, I lay there crying and petrified with fear and closed my eyes.I heard the car door slam and then heard the scream of my tires as the man peeled out in my Honda and into the sunset. The acrid smell of burning rubber filled my nostrils and I began to cough violently and I vomited all over myself before finally passing out.When I awoke I was on a stretcher and surrounded by police and medical personnel. The story I gave the police was much simpler than the one that had actually happened. It was all a blur, I don't remember what happened, it was all so sudden. No, I don't remember what he looked like And on and on. I remember being asked if I had a chance to escape or thwart the robbery. I replied that it all just happened so fast I couldn't think.Thats good that you didn't, you life is worth more than a Honda, The investigator had said.Since then I have been told that more times than I care to remember and every time I hear that I nod solemnly and tell them Yup, it sure is, I'm still alive its just a dumb car. But when Im driving home from work in my new (used) Chevy Cavalier or picking up some groceries from the local supermarket or on any of the many, many times I find myself in my car, idling at a red light, I see him, running up to my window with the gun in hand, his mouth snarling and his finger on the trigger. Screaming and cursing at me with his crazy lunatic eyes. I break out in a cold sweat, my breath gets tight, my heart pounds painfully against my chest and I wonder; is a life of fear and self pity worth more than a Honda?I don't know.

The EndIsmael Ruiz