I had a man try to kill me in Kansas once. I was homeless and had made a deal with Brooks Herndon, this “eccentric” inventor I knew through my grandpa, to stay in his warehouse in exchange for tidying and clerical work there. The warehouse had a small bedroom area and kitchen.

The deal was that I had the place to myself until 1200 every morning. So, I was alarmed when I heard Brooks rummaging through the dresser in my room around 0900. Wearing only my panties and t-shirt I made my way to the kitchen. “You’re a little early” I said.

I lit a cigarette. “You’re not supposed to come in until noon.” I reminded him, diplomatically. To which he responded, briskly walking towards me, rolling up his sleeves: “don’t you fucking talk back to me, bitch! I make the rules. The rules are whatever I say they are!”

His face was too red and far too close to mine. And I’ll always remember what I told him: “I don’t know what happened to you to make you think that you can treat people this way but I am so sorry.” This repelled Brooks back to where he’d been rummaging. So I smoked in victory.

I got out my phone to check it for alerts and started fiddling with this and that half paying attention to Brooks’ rummaging. I looked up from my phone and to my right. On the other side of a desk was Brooks with a .38 Special pointed directly at my chest his face still too red.

“Do not point a gun at someone unless you intend to kill that person” my fathers words rang in my head as I searched for a weapon. “My phone! That might just work” I thought in the single second I spent studying his pistol. I’m streaming you, Brooks. Put the gun down, Brooks.”

Having my phone in my hand paid off. He searched his 60-year-old-mind for understanding of the Internet. The phone did have a camera with a prominent lens. It seemed like forever standing there... And then! He lowered it. It worked. Now, about the $5k in the bag behind him...

Behind Brooks sat the entirety of my personal estate — it sounds so fancy that way. I was homeless and not legally employed. Five-thousand dollars cash in a messenger bag. “Now I’ll just reach around you there gun-friend and get my bag.” I put on my bag and turned to leave. BAM

He struck me on the back of the head repeatedly and put me in a headlock. He then started to try to throw me forward in this weird way I couldn’t understand until I saw it: the big cast iron vice affixed to the workbench. He was trying to smash my head into it. He was strong.

I knew at this point his mission was to end my life. He lost his balance a bit as I struggled before the vice and we toppled to the floor. I crawled out of his grasp and kicked my way free towards the door. This time I wouldn’t miss. I bolted to the door and tasted sunlight.

“HELP ME! HELP ME!” I screamed as I ran into the front parking lot. “Call the police. He has a gun and he’s trying to kill me.” All I can remember about the people who called the police is that they were more concerned with me living there than the attempted murder. I waited...

The Lawrence police arrive and the first thing they do is go buddy up with my attacker and have a nice little chummy conversation. They then finally come to me and put me in handcuffs. I tell them he tried to kill me with the .38 he has inside. They found his gun and ignored it.

Without the gun as evidence it was just his word against mine. And his story to the cops is that we got into a domestic fight. But I was in no way domestically involved with that man. He was my landlord. The cops knew this. But they charged us both with battery. Now I had court.

The cops ignored my injuries. They also offered me nothing to wear or a blanket to cover myself as I sat bloodied in my night shirt and panties. All they did was ask me about my cash savings and pretended like they could legally confiscate it — which they ultimately couldn’t.

They gave me a ride downtown and I checked into the Lawrence homeless shelter. I had nowhere to go and was carrying an uncomfortably large amount of money. I ended up having to get a pro bono lawyer while carrying a hiking pack with all my possessions inside. He was awful.

The first thing my free attorney assigned to me tells me is that I should accept a probation deal; my probation. Someone tries to murder me and then I get probation?! “No. I will not accept that under any circumstances. This man tried to kill me” I told this very thick person.

This law school waste product did not believe I was innocent. It was that simple. I had to spell everything out for him and seemed to be fighting him at every turn. Finally I amassed enough legal knowledge that I could see the absurdity of the whole case just theoretically.

I laid it out for my resistant assistant.”We are both charged with the same crime. We are both the only witnesses. And there’s no evidence. No good lawyer will let their client testify in their own criminal trial. And calling them as a witness against me would be doing just that”

Months passed. Life changed. I had a shitty canvassing job. And one day the trial came. My lawyer called the other guys’ lawyer and followed my instructions: tell him there’s no choice but to dismiss the case. And it worked. They dropped the charges and I paid $60 in fees.

This practice of “double-charging” violence is not at all uncommon. It’s a well known tactic for preventing cops from having to come to court and preventing battered partners from getting any help. It also makes money for the state even if the poor people just get the probation.

The cops clearly cared about my attacker. Nobody listened to me. There was even evidence, a gun, backing up what I told them. But they chose to ignore it just like they did my injuries. There’s an entire culture doing this shit out there. It has to stop. #gunviolence @lawrenceks