My Husband was Attacked by an Armed Car Jacker

My husband always wanted to drive a Pontiac Sunfire. We were thrilled when we found the vehicle last summer in his favorite color: red. The price for the automobile was just right, so we bought it. He soon took on a part-time delivery job to earn some extra money for the costs of the auto loan and car insurance. We never thought he'd be the victim of a crime. One night, after work, a car jacker armed with a knife tried to steal my husband's little red coupe. Thankfully, my husband escaped from the thief with his car and his life.

The small parking lot behind the Chinese restaurant is dimly lit, and there is no video surveillance. It is located in a good neighborhood, but unfortunately not everyone in a good neighborhood is a good person. Not all men are good men, like my husband, Corey.

After a routine evening of deliveries, my husband clocked out and went to his car. Just after he started the engine, someone tapped on his window. Instead of rolling down the window, my trusting husband chose to get out of the car for some reason to talk to this stranger. The man said something about Corey's car, but his English wasn't clear. Corey said "I'm sorry. I don't understand you."

That's when the stranger pulled out a knife. Seeing the weapon, my husband quickly got back into the car. The blade slashed Corey's arm as he turned. He threw the car into reverse and then sped home, still uncertain of what had actually happened. He still doesn't remember most of the details, because it happened so fast.

I was cleaning the bathroom when he appeared in the doorway, sweating. The expression on his face was undescribable, a mix of emotions ranging from confusion to fear. I immediately knew something was wrong. At first I thought he was upset because of an argument we'd had earlier, but then I noticed the towel on his arm. It was stained with what was unmistakably blood.

He told me what had happened, how a man had said something about his car, then pulled a knife for no apparent reason. I removed the towel to discover a two inch gash on his arm, a bit deep. I insisted that we call 911 to report the incident. The details began to come back to Corey as he processed what had happened. It was only when the dispatcher suggested attempted car jacking that we realized the man had been trying to steal Corey's car.

After calling 911, I reported the crime to the restaurant in case the man was still out back. Officials arrived at our home, a few minutes later. Policemen and EMTs filled my living room. They examined Corey's arm and bandaged it. Thankfully he didn't need any stitches. That done, the EMTs left us to tell the story to the police officers again and again until they had extracted every last detail he remembered.

My husband didn't manage to remember much. He didn't see the man or the blade clearly, because it was so dark. The man looked very young, probably around Corey's age. He was of Latino descent, and he was wearing a dark jacket. The reason my husband didn't understand him was because his English was not very good, and his accent was thick. That's all he could tell them.

You'd think that you'd remember everything in an experience like this. You don't. It happens so quickly that you don't get to take everything in properly. What stays with you are the feelings, your instinctual reactions, and the effects it has on your life. The memories are unclear, but the scar is vivid.

Eventually, there was only one policeman left. He finished taking my husband's statement then left to file the report. And then we were alone. We decided to call it a night.

Corey got called into work on base later that night, and he went in. He went in to work the next day as usual. He didn't tell anyone about in the attack. He didn't want to draw attention to himself. About a week later, one of my husband's superiors stumbled upon the police report! They pulled Corey aside and told him he should probably tell them about things like that. They were glad he was okay and told him to be more careful. They were impressed with his work ethic, coming in after such a traumatic event.

I was impressed, too. Most people would just hand over their car if someone tried to steal it. My husband tucked his tail between his legs and ran. That's my man. Well, what would you do if someone suddenly brandished a blade at you? My husband wasn't about to protect his car with his life. Instead he protected his life (and car) with his car. Granted, he didn't realize at the time it was an attempted car jacking, but give the guy some credit. If he had known, it would have been brave to refuse to surrender the vehicle. There's nothing cowardly about an unarmed man getting out of the way of a man with a sharp knife. We need Corey too much for him to be playing the hero.

I am proud of Corey because he handled the situation the best and safest way possible. And then, when his country needed him (to fix a server), he answered the call despite his recent injury. Well, ok, I am dressing it up a bit, but still: That's pretty good work ethic. He could have said "Um, yeah, someone just tried to stab me, so could someone else handle it?" Nah. That's not Corey's style. He's always reliable. You can depend on him. America can depend on him. (Okay, okay, I am dressing it up again.)

Overall, this ended up being just one night out of our lives--one really bad night. It taught my husband to be a little bit more careful, especially in dark alleys. He certainly won't be getting out of his car to talk to strangers anymore. In fact, he confesses that he probably won't even roll down the window next time. He has a nasty scar on his arm as a reminder of this incident.

They never caught the guy who gave him that scar. We're hoping he gave up his life of crime and went straight after this. Because similar crimes were later reported involving a similar man, we doubt that's the case. We never thought a crime like this would happen in our neighborhood where my husband, a decent hard-working man, is just trying to earn a living. This has made us all a little more thankful to have each other--and a little more wary of dark alleys and strangers. I share the story with my readers in hopes it will have a similar effects on their lives--your lives.