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Boonville, Indiana is a quaint little town, nothing really happens, when there's a fender bender up on the Square, it makes front-page news in the Standard. If you can overlook the severe absence of teeth and the sheer over abundance of idiotic idiosyncrasy, Boonville is just the township for you. My mother and Joyce Mason have been friends ever since high school, and them being well into their fifties, have been together longer that she's been with my father. Joyce owns a small pawnshop up on the square and is up there 9-5, 4 days a week working like everyone else. Her having this shop has opened up many opportunities for me, on both the employee and customer side. I can almost credit her for getting me into music. When I was 14, she had this cheap old bass guitar up there, I wanted it so, so badly, but 90 dollars to a 14 year old is an unprecedented amount of money. Joyce, being the kind soul that she is, allowed me to come up and do various tasks for her, shelving DVD's, cleaning showcases, those types of things. Now as I'm older, I'm more aware of the quality of am instrument and I'll snag most of the good stuff that comes through at a discounted price. Just a perk of having a good friend.

Now this one particular day, in 2009, I was up there putting a payment on a vintage Les Paul that came through, nothing out of the ordinary. I drove up after school and was hanging out behind the counter for a while just visiting, waiting for my Mom to come up and exercise with Joyce in their "Back Room Ghetto Gym" they have set up in the storage room. Just Joyce, her father Rev. Ron Clark and I, enjoying a beautiful Fall day, windows wide open, front door propped wide, feeling the cool breeze rush in as each car passed. Ron was playing Solitaire on his perch next to the front showcase and Joyce and I were discussing how big of an idiot my Dad was. Just a normal day up at the shop. All of the sudden, the room exploded into action. Two persons stormed in with masks, duffel-bags and pistols. "Get on the fucking ground!" shouted the first, "I don't wanna see your faces." Sharp, piercing senses on anxiety shot over me, head to toe like fresh excess paint gradually dripping down a board. How can anyone comprehend what's happening at this moment. "On the ground old man!" commanded the second. "I can't I have bad knees." replied Rev. Clark. "Don't even think about moving or you're dead" said the first. I could hear Joyce crying, something I never heard before. Complete and utter terror embodied in a sound, more frightening than anything else I've ever witnessed. They commanded me to start loading jewelry into one bag, Joyce to put money in one, and for Ron to start loading the rifles and shotguns from behind the counter into another. Joyce was moving slow, frozen with fear. The Second took the butt of her pistol to Joyce's jaw like prodding cattle. It continued like this till they got their fill, as they took off, the First fired a shot into the ceiling as a territorial statement. Literally seconds after their departure my mother and little sister arrive, Ron runs out yelling, “Get in your car and go, we’ve been robbed, they might come back.” Mom told me to get in the car, she asked Ron what they were driving, “Red 2002 Chrysler Sebring.” We shot off like a bat out of hell. “Mom, what are we doing?!” I bawled. “Chasing these assholes down, they probably took Millersburg” Millersburg Rd is an old gravel pathway that dates back to the late 1900’s, it’s been there quite a while, and Mama knew it like the back of her hand. We shoot off down Main Street, passing cops searching the primary streets for them. “Dumbasses,” Mom whispered “leave it to the cops not to know their own town.” We wind around an old path; Mom can see dust kicked up over a field. I could hear the roar of engines behind us, I begged my mom to pull over. She caved. Soon after, whole caravans of SUV’s flew by shaking the car from the air displacement. I told my mom enough is enough and we need to turn back. As we pulled back up to Joyce’s shop cops and medics were already there, trying to ask her questions while they were attempting to mend her jawbone. They came to me asking me for physical descriptions, tone of voice, et cetera, et cetera. Finally my mother pulled me away claiming I’d had enough for the day, she went to Joyce to see if she was all right enough for her to take us home. “Goddamn peachy” was her reply. Later that night I was bombarded with questions and sympathy from my parents and relatives. Mom was on the phone telling Aunt Amy, Uncle Joe, Uncle Kevin, and Aunt Becky, the whole Hills-Hulgus clan. I didn’t get much sleep that night. The preceding day Mom was glued to the news. They found these two degenerate bastards in a shack out in the Boonville Slums, with the family tied up in the basement. The car ditched a mile out with all the loot still within. One Male, One Female, changed my life forever. They told the press this is exactly how they wanted it “We wanted to go out like Bonnie and Clyde.” And they didn’t care who got in their way. Apparently they had hit up two other pawnshops in the Tri-State before this, both privately owned. It’s odd I’m writing this paper now, for they get out at the end of December, 15 years cut down for good behavior, a vital flaw in our judicial system and correctional facilities. After all of this, I’d thank these two sociopathic freaks, for opening my eyes to the beautiful life I have in front of me everyday when I wake up. I was taught never to take anything for granted and treat everyone like a brother or sister, because in a split second it can be taken from you without hesitation. Then what do you have? What did your life surmount to? There’s no time to complain about how hard it is to make rent, or how stressful freshman year in college is. I’m blessed enough to even be experiencing it. I’m blessed enough to be experiencing every day. All cliché’s aside, living everyday as if it was your last has become all I know.